


coffee shop soundtrack

by viiisenya



Series: coffee grounds [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Barista Shikamaru, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, GOD i'm so sorry for delayed updates i'm just So Busy, Light Angst, Miscommunication, Or do they?, Romance, Slow Burn, Temari sings and plays the guitair, a lil bit of world building, another AU no one asked for LOL, but don't worry they end up together, he's also a coffee snob, honestly will tag as i go since i barely know where it's going, hope u guys enjoy lots of mirai and shikamaru bonding bc theres gonna be tons of that, i really don't know where this is gonna go i just love shikatema AUs, just know there will be pain, like very slow burn, lots of miscommunication and making decisions a little too late, shikamaru is dumb and tired and grouchy, shikamaru won't admit he's in loooove
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-05-20 21:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14902604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viiisenya/pseuds/viiisenya
Summary: In his four years of coffee making, he had never made a mistake.So, when that Bothersome Blonde he’d never seen before came trudging to the counter complaining about her order being made wrong, Shikamaru couldn’t help getting irrationally defensive and argue with her.It also didn’t help that she happened to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his entire life.it's hard adding two and two together when you can't even realize you're supposed to be adding in the first place.***updates sporadically***





	1. wicked

**Author's Note:**

> i've returned with another shikatema AU. i had written something similar to this a long time ago, but it's mostly inspired by my dream of meeting the love of my life at my coffee shop job. as my tags have already said, i honestly have very little idea where this is going. i know the beginning, bits of the middle, and the definite end, but we'll see where this takes us. i don't own naruto nor do i own any of the song lyrics used as chapter titles. title was borrowed from one of my favorite songs, _coffee shop soundtrack_ by all time low. 
> 
> if you read _c plus_ , you'll see some similarities in characterization and tacked on attributes (ie. naruto studying law in _c plus_ and finishing law school here). otherwise, i'm trying to do something a little bit different than my beloved bb _c plus_ , especially in terms of Shikamaru's characterization. 
> 
> also, this is a premature apology for any weird tenses/tense changes. it takes me a chapter or two to really figure out which tense i want to write in and if i notice them during my rereads, i'll definitely fix them. 
> 
> lastly, song titles used as chapter names don't influence the chapter; it is the string of lyrics i picked from each song.
> 
> enjoy-

**“wicked” – mansionz (feat. g-eazy)**  
.  
“ _that girl is vicious_  
_when you see her be sure that_  
_you’re keeping your distance_ ”  
.

He was good at his job. Nobody made a cup of coffee like Nara Shikamaru did. Tsunade had said so herself, and that woman was incredibly difficult to please.

He had made approximately 18,980 cups of coffee over the course of four years, amounting to about thirteen cups a day, give or take. All of it was muscle memory at that point; steaming milk for thirty some seconds, pressing espresso and popping open a sleeve in the same move. Three pumps of syrup for a sixteen ounce, four for a twenty. Anything he didn’t already know could be learned in less than an hour after introduction. He’d done it so often, he did it without even thinking. In his four years of coffee making, he had never made a mistake.  

So, when that Bothersome Blonde he’d never seen before came trudging to the counter complaining about her order being made wrong, Shikamaru couldn’t help getting irrationally defensive and argue with her.  

It also didn’t help that she happened to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his entire life.

“Do you even _know_ what hazelnut tastes like?” She asked him incredulously, green-blue eyes ablaze between narrowed lids.

Shikamaru scoffed. “Of course I do; I work here. Do _you_ know what it tastes like?”

“Definitely not this,” the blonde snapped. “What happened to the customer is always right?”

“We both know that’s a bullshit excuse made up by shitty customers to _justify_ being shitty customers,” Shikamaru shot back. 

She took a step back, still holding the alleged wrongly made cup of coffee. “Whoa. Isn’t this supposed to be a family friendly environment?”

Shikamaru scowled at her as he waved his arm around the store. “We’re the only two people here.”

Realistically and rationally, he should not have been arguing with the customer. It was a stupid argument over his hurt pride and inability to admit that he was wrong (though, Shikamaru knew with a great degree of certainty that he was, in fact, _not_ wrong). He was not typically an arrogant person; having a handful of decent qualities about oneself made it easy to be humble, but Shikamaru made no mistakes when it came to the coffee he handled. It was a well-known fact.

He remembered making the drink distinctly; five pumps of hazelnut (“go heavy on the hazelnut,” he had overhead) while he pressed the beans (two shots), and then he steamed the milk (two percent) while the espresso dripped into the cup. He poured the milk into a leaf before he handed it to Asuma, who then hand delivered the drink to the Bothersome Blonde. It was the last drink he walked to a customer before he left. That was exactly how it happened. 

“Is this how you respond to all of your customers when you make a drink wrong?” She asked. 

Shikamaru snapped his attention back to her and narrowed his eyes. 

“I didn’t make it wrong,” he contended, ignoring her question. “I’ve never made a wrong drink.”

“They say today is the best day to do something differently.”

She gave him a smirk, just a subtle lift at the corner of her mouth and that only made him more annoyed. It was always the beautiful women who were the most troublesome. 

And god, was she beautiful. Her features were sharp and well-defined, save the color of her eyes that seemed to shift like the ocean under the scrutiny of the light. She was tan, having sat under the sun for quite some time given the thin, pale lines that ran up and down her shoulders. Her gold-spun hair had to be no longer than his, but he couldn’t be sure since it was tied back and out of her face. If she had been wearing makeup, he couldn’t tell which only had him wondering how much more striking she would have been if she was _._ The sound of her voice was rich and full; she spoke with a smooth and precise enunciation of each word without wavers of insecurity. She was gorgeous and she _knew_ it. 

The most important feature of her though was the fact that it was the first time he had ever seen her at the shop. Shikamaru knew just about everybody who came through, having worked the busiest shifts for as long as he could remember.

He had been serving the same number of customers over the course of four years, learning their names after he learned their orders. There was old lady Saki (the café au lait on Mondays), Akemi (the double shot espresso at eight in the morning every day), Jun the lawyer (an Americano on Tuesdays and Thursdays at exactly three) to name a few. He knew his friends that stopped by habitually: Naruto and Hinata (a pour over dark roast and regular latte, respectively); Sakura (and her white mocha); Ino (a habitual toddy at two on Tuesdays).

Shikamaru knew everybody that came in. He always had. King’s on Twelfth had been around long enough that its customer base shifted into being the same patrons over and over again. Konohagakure was big and healthily populated, but King’s was tucked away on a corner of the city. A hidden gem only known to natives, or some shit along those lines often included in trendy foodie magazines.

“I _didn’t_ make it wrong,” he finally repeated, a little more firmly this time.

She tilted her head and outstretched her hand holding the cup. The look in her eyes and the curl at the corner of her mouth said enough. It was a challenge. 

Shikamaru’s eyes dropped from her face to the cup before looking back at her. She nodded again to the cup with a raised eyebrow.

He sighed as he took it from her. Their fingers brushed slightly and he made note of the callouses at her fingertips. The little hole of the lid was rimmed in soft pink, the outline of a kiss and a blotchy coffee stain staring back at him with fierce audacity. He sniffed before popping the lid off and tossing it into trashcan beside him. 

The coffee was still warm against his touch and just as full as when he had made it. Saying it out loud would have made him sound like a snob, but he could smell the coffee beans they were using. The Flying Swallow dark roast blend, he recognized, meant to have a slightly sweeter taste than their regular beans with hints of cherry and chocolate. Asuma had said they were experimenting with them, but very few would notice the difference since “hot bean juice tastes the same to everybody” as Naruto had aptly put it.

Shikamaru took a sip and just about choked on the drink.

Not hazelnut, he fumed. _Definitely_ not hazelnut.

It was vanilla.

He didn’t have to look back at the Bothersome Blonde to know that she had a wolfish grin on her face, the smug feeling of triumph radiating off of her and crossing the counter like summer heat. 

Trying his hardest to ignore her, Shikamaru turned to angrily throw the contents of the cup into the sink and then crushed the cup before dropping it into the garbage. He wordlessly grabbed another cup and began pressing the espresso again. His glare was intense as he looked to the rows of syrup, noticing then that Hazelnut and Vanilla had been switched. What was muscle memory did not take into account the outside force of shifted bottles. Shikamaru would have to have a strong word with whoever had decided to change the order of the syrups.

“I’m sorry for making your drink wrong,” Shikamaru said with forced courtesy through clenched teeth as he placed the freshly made latte onto the counter. The Bothersome Blonde looked at him and smiled. 

“Thanks,” she responded sincerely though still very much amused. “I appreciate it.”

She placed a ten-dollar bill onto the counter and he couldn’t do anything but stare at it. 

“What’s that?” He asked stupidly, looking from the bill to her with narrowed eyes.

“For the coffee,” she said plainly.

Shikamaru shook his head and began retreating towards the grinder. “Mistakes are on the house.”

It still pained him to admit such a fault but he had already argued away his pride; all that was left was acceptance and moving on.

The Bothersome Blonde made no other comments as she moved away from the counter and back up onto the platform where she had been sitting. He had gathered that she must have been a tourist by the way she dressed and the fact that she had ordered a hot drink in the most treacherous time of the summer.

Konohagakure summers were sweltering and merciless, leaving most of the inhabitants sopping wet at all times whether it was due to endless sweating or exiting another shower. Such was that of the Land of Fire. But, the Bothersome Blonde was dressed modestly compared to the other patrons that came in, almost seemingly unfazed by the heat. Where most others were sporting shorts and t-shirts, she had worn a lavender, long-sleeve that fell off the shoulders. The hot drink also indicated that the present heat must have not been the worst she’d encountered before. 

He frowned as he wiped down the porcelain mugs coming from the dishwasher. _Tourist_ meant that he would never see her again and there was no use in analyzing where she had come from. Even if she was curiously alluring in all the ways that piqued his interest, her troublesome bite and fierce challenges included. She would just be another rare passerby served at King’s and he would forget about her in a week’s time. It was often how it went with the infrequent number of outsiders they saw.

Sunagakure, he concluded nevertheless as he placed the cups onto the rack. If Konohagakure summers were merciless, Sunagakure summers were a literal hell on earth. He had driven through once on a business trip with his father, a time when his other job still required him to travel such distances. The state was only seven hours over and should not have had such a dramatic climate change, but it had, and Shikamaru had feared the tires of his car were going to melt as they rolled over the scalding asphalt. Every breath taken was suffocating, and the sun had glared down with fierce animosity and no intent to stop. Shikamaru was never sure if Hell was a real place, but if it were, he had imagined it was Sunagakure.

The sound of the door opening caught his attention as he glanced over his shoulder, then to the clock. _Three-thirty already_ , he thought absently. 

“Hey,” Moegi chirped with a two-finger salute at her forehead.

She was a freshman at the university four blocks down, and the one who graciously relieved him of his duties at three-thirty every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday; Udon came in on the Tuesdays and Thursdays at the same time. Moegi was tolerable at best, though she often gave him a headache on the rare occasion they worked together. She was a good employee, which was not the root of his headache, but rather the sometimes overbearingly bratty attitude she had. Her good work habits and ability to take responsibility (unlike Konohamaru) in addition to her backbone of steel (unlike Udon) outweighed her bratty behavior most days though, so he considered her tolerable.

Shikamaru nodded at her by way of greeting then lazily pointed a finger to the rack of syrups. 

“Did you change the order of these?” 

Moegi threw her bag down behind the door towards the kitchen and barely glanced in the direction he was pointing in. She took her time answering as he watched her head to the register to punch in, looking over at him once more.

“Nope,” she finally responded as she tapped at the smudged screen.

“You know who did?” Shikamaru asked as he threw his rag into the sink. “And I don’t even care if it was Konohamaru who did it; I will publicly shame him even if Asuma hits me over the head with a brick.”

She snorted and adjust her pigtails. “Realistically, Asuma would probably thank you for that. Why are you so worked up about the order of those dumb syrups anyways?” 

His eye twitched as he reached for his backpack; none of the younger kids understood the pristine order King’s had to be in at all times. “I made a drink wrong today because they were out of order.”

Moegi took a sharp, dramatic breath and turned to face him. Her expression teetered towards mocking as she placed a hand delicately over her heart. “Oh, god forbid.”

He scowled and threw his backpack over his shoulder. They also did not understand the importance of his flawless coffee-making record. “Asuma will be back at four. Pass the word along that I have a shitstorm coming for whoever changed the order of the syrups.”

“Hear you loud and clear, captain,” Moegi drawled with her back to him as she wiped down the back counter.  

Shikamaru said nothing else as he stepped out from behind the counter, grabbing his own cup of coffee in a quick move. His eyes flickered up to the platform in a quick glance at where the Bothersome Blonde… _was_ sitting. The table she occupied was cleared and empty, just as the rest of the shop was before the college rush would come. He narrowed his eyes and wondered when she had left (not that he cared or anything).

“I’m headed out,” he called out as he approached the door.

“’Kay,” Moegi chirped. “Wait, wait.”

He turned around just to see her wave something at him. “What?”

“What’s this ten-dollar bill doing here?”

 _For the coffee._  

“Oh.” The sound dropped from his mouth and he felt himself automatically tighten his grip on the cup. “Throw it in the jar.” 

“You don’t want it?” Moegi asked curiously, dangling the bill over the jar.

“Just throw it in the jar,” he repeated, nonchalant. He watched as Moegi stuffed the bill into the mouth of the glass before leaving. Rounding the corner, he took a sip from his coffee and frowned. 

It was vanilla.

* * *

“Oh, Shikamaru,” a familiar voice called from behind him. “It’s been a while.”

He turned slowly as he fumbled with his keys. He smelled of burnt coffee beans and printer ink, and his head throbbed as a result of being under the glare of white office lights, _and_ he desperately wanted to shower. He was mildly annoyed that somebody had interrupted him from entering the sanctuary of his apartment but as he met whoever the voice came from, he raised an eyebrow. 

“Kakashi,” he greeted and straightened his back. “It has been a while. What brings you to the building?” 

His landlord shuffled towards him and lazily bobbed his finger downward. “New tenant in 710. Thought I’d be hospitable for once and introduce myself.”

“710? Shino moved out?” Shikamaru asked curiously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

He did not know his neighbor from one floor below except by name and the fact that he must have slept like a dead person. There were never any complaints whenever Shikamaru managed to disturb the peace of night. On several occasions, he had groggily wandered into his kitchen at three in the morning only to hit his head on the too-low cupboards and drop pans, followed by a string of loud curses. There were bangs on the walls that came from either side of his apartment, and he had waited for a passive-aggressive note left on his door from whoever lived below him, but they never came. Shikamaru was almost sure that this _Shino_ didn’t even exist and was just a cruel joke Kakashi was playing until Naruto had exclaimed he was a former classmate of Hinata’s some years ago.

“Yeah,” Kakashi confirmed. “Said something about the person living in 810 making too much noise at night.”

Shikamaru winced and opened his mouth to come to his own defense until Kakashi snickered, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m kidding. He got promoted and they relocated him across town to be closer to the new facility.”

His shoulders sank in relief as he sighed. “That’s good. That’s good for him, I’m glad.”

 _Even though I have no idea what he does_ , Shikamaru thought to himself. But, he wondered who could be living below him now. Not that he would ever meet them. He hoped that they didn’t mind his bimonthly pots and pans symphony in _shit!_ minor like Shino had. He didn’t even know the silent (and possibly non-existent) bastard but he kind of missed him.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Kakashi said, then jutted a thumb behind him. “Know if Jiraiya’s in? I offered to read his new manuscript but left my phone at home.”

He shrugged and finally managed to get his key into the hole. “Don’t know, I just came home.”

Shikamaru knew a total of three people who lived in his fifteen floor building: Kiba and his dog, Akamaru, on his left; Tayuya on his right; and Jiraiya across the hall.

He knew of Kiba through high school though they were never acquainted with each other. His dog was well-behaved (save the times Shikamaru could smell bath time through the vents, but that was out of the dog’s control) and Kiba only banged on the walls every time he managed to make a late night racket. Besides that though, they were on seemingly good terms and he didn’t mind his left-side neighbor too much.

Tayuya, on the other hand, drove him fucking insane. She was a haughty girl who made no efforts to be friendly from the first day she moved in and it was hard not to mention that she was absolutely, positively _tone deaf._ She played the flute at decent times during the day, which would have been fine and tolerable, if it weren’t for the fact that she was talentless. He was not one for direct confrontation and figured she would realize how awful she was and give up her aspirations of being a flutist. But that was three years ago and against all odds, she seemed to have only gotten worse. He was at least grateful she followed some semblance of a schedule and he made sure to be out at those times. 

Jiraiya happened to be the only neighbor he could say he truly liked, despite the fact that Shikamaru was sure the man had to be a registered sex offender somewhere in the world. He was a renowned author who decided to live humbly in the apartment complex Kakashi owned (though, Shikamaru had begun to suspect that it was because he was able to live rent free on the account that said landlord could get first dibs on new releases). He always gifted him a bottle of expensive whiskey or scotch for big, consumerist holidays and his birthday though, and was also kind enough to let Shikamaru keep his spare key underneath his mat for the days he would forget his keys.

“Ah, guess I should knock and check myself, eh?” Kakashi said.

Shikamaru gave a tired smile and nodded. “He should be in. He doesn’t go out ‘til later.”

He knew this fact due to the boisterous laughter that rang throughout the hallway after two in the morning and girlish giggles that stopped just at his door.

“Great. I’ll leave you alone now,” Kakashi grinned. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he responded before slipping into his apartment.

Upon entering, the clock informed him it was nine and past Eggplant’s dinner time. He reached for the container beside the bowl and twisted the top off to shake the food into the water. The purple fish swam to the top and eagerly gulped the flakes as Shikamaru tapped a finger to the glass. Eggplant had been a housewarming gift from Naruto five years ago, the latter of which insisted that Shikamaru needed company and graciously named the former. His blond friend had remarked his laziness and jokingly warned him not to kill the fish during its first year with him. Shikamaru had taken it as a challenge to keep Eggplant alive as long as possible out of spite. 

After watching his fish swim in circles for a moment, he moved to unlace his shoes and place them on the rack by the door then loosened the tie that was choking him. Rummaging through the fridge reminded him that he would have to go grocery shopping very soon unless he resolved to eating pasta and butter for every meal. He grabbed a roll off the counter and bit into it while he scrolled meaninglessly through social media.

He sat down onto his dad’s ancient recliner with a _plop_ and threw his feet up onto the ottoman. Deciding to rest his eyes for a few moments before he showered, Shikamaru placed his phone on the table beside him and dusted the crumbs off his shirt.

When he woke, it was half past three in the morning.

“Fuck,” he mumbled as he rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye. 

He had said it as if he were surprised he managed to wedge a decent night’s sleep into an indecent timeframe; as if it weren’t a nightly occurrence. He should have known himself better by then at the ripe old age of twenty-five, but Shikamaru learned every day, despite his genius and much to his dismay, that he still had a lot to learn.

The wood floors creaked beneath his weight as he searched for a pack of cigarettes and fished for the lighter in his slacks. He thought he could hear some sort of scraping coming from a part of the apartment and it reminded him of the time Ino had confidently declared his apartment was haunted. 

It wasn’t until he paused in front of his balcony doors that he heard the clear sound of furniture being gently moved across the floor. Whether it was whoever lived above or below him that decided to do some late night rearranging, he couldn’t tell. He pushed the doors open with some resistance, and figured he would smoke in the hammock for a bit before finally taking a goddamn shower. He had to be at King’s in approximately three and a half hours, and hoped that the noises would stop soon so that he could sleep for the few hours he had in his bed like a regular person.

The green-grey hammock was strung diagonally across the length of his balcony and groaned every time he sat down in it. His mother had incessantly nagged him about bringing the stupid stringy thing to his stupid expensive apartment, but Shikamaru tuned her out. The hammock was comfortable and provided him with the best way to sway in the wind while watching the clouds. His apartment was fine and perhaps it _was_ too expensive for his budget, but the balconies provided the best views of the sky in the entire city. Of course, it was a pain in the ass that all three of his friends lived on the other side of the city, and that he had to drive to twenty minutes his second job, and sometimes it got very loud when there was construction—but what mattered the most to him was the view of the clouds and stars.

He lit a cigarette and took a long drag. Besides the occasional car that cruised by, the city was silent and the summer air was cool on his skin. It wasn’t until his ears picked up on the sound of another balcony door opening that he paused his swinging.

Shikamaru planted his feet firmly on the ground of the balcony and listened, wondering who in the hell could be up this late (though, he really had no room to judge given his current activity). It wasn’t Kiba or Tayuya (thank god), leaving only the person below or above him. There was quietness again and then the familiar twang of a guitar being tuned.

There was at least ten feet between each balcony on either side, so any sound made from the space would be sucked into the city and leave no trace of a disturbance for neighbors. He knew this because Naruto had sung to the heavens one drunken night and miraculously did not get him evicted.

The tuning continued for a brief moment before a test note was strummed, then a song came to life. He braced himself for a Tayuya 2.0 but what came surprised him. The sounds were fluid and each note moved seamlessly into the next with no hiccups between. He could tell whoever was playing had deft hands and years of skill behind their fingers. He had been prepared to admire a late night, lyric-less show until they had opened their mouth.

They had a strong voice, he inferred, though they sang softly to accommodate the night time sleepers. There was a smoothness in the words being sung that reminded him (his coffee snob self) of a perfect dark roast, and made goosebumps rise all along his arms. A new sense of peace washed over him and ebbed away at the crabbiness he had fallen asleep with.

The song ended before he could have registered any of the lyrics (though he suspected briefly that it was a cover given the sense of familiarity he had with the tune) or the passing of time even, and he could barely hear the guitar being placed onto the ground. There was a sigh, and then creaking of what he assumed was a chair, and then finally there was silence again.

Shikamaru enjoyed the rare hours of silence the most out of anything; after spending years in the loud atmosphere of the coffee shop, the hustle and bustle of the office, and with shitty neighbors who didn’t know the dictionary definition of quiet, silence was a treat.

But, for the first time in a while, the silence of the night left him restless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know ANYTHING about music and i barely know things about coffee besides the basics of making it, so if you notice any inconsistencies/inaccuracies, please feel free to let me know. 
> 
> besides that, hope this first chapter was enjoyable and interesting enough for people to want to read more! 
> 
> if you're at all able, please leave a comment! they're always much appreciated <3


	2. new skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow! thank you all for the warm welcome back! i know the expectations are high for this story to be as good as _c plus_ so i'm trying hard to ensure that it's of the same caliber :) 
> 
> just a few notes-- Shikamaru's behavior from the first chapter to this one towards Temari is kind of different because I wrote the first chapter with one type of attitude in mind for Shikamaru, but as I've hashed out plot points for future chapters, I've decided in a different approach. So, I apologize if his behavior is kind of weird. 
> 
> Also! I hope he isn't super out of character with (borderline) obsessing over Temari's first appearance-- I kind of think of it as that being apart of his over-analytical and highly perceptive part of his personality lol his (borderline) obsessing will make sense the further we get into the story, so hopefully it isn't anything SUPER out there for Shikamaru. (i like to think of it as Shikamaru's subconscious knowing Temari is the love of his life LOL) 
> 
> as always, at the end, if you're at all able, please leave a comment! i love hearing your guys' thoughts and feedback :) 
> 
> anyways, enjoy-

**“new skin” – beach weather**  
.  
“ _i know i know i know i know i know_  
_what a drag_ ”  
.

He saw her again two weeks later.

By then, Shikamaru had forgotten the Bothersome Blonde and her uncomplicated order except for her purple shirt, and the way she pointed her chin at him, and the callouses on her fingers, and the green-blue of her eyes—okay, so he hadn’t _really_ forgotten but more so _pretended_ to have forgotten.

He kind of felt like Jiraiya every time a thought of the Bothersome Blonde assaulted his mind at any brief reminder of her that he encountered. It wasn’t as if he _wanted_ to think about someone as (beautiful and) aggravating as her. His stupid mind was inadvertently obsessing over some woman he didn’t even know and it was becoming grossly weird.

It started with the hazelnut lattes.

Classes had ended for the summer, and as a result, Shikamaru had unfortunately been paired with Konohamaru one day. The newly promoted college sophomore went on and on and on about some high school senior girl named Hanabi who was taking college classes, and how hot he thought she was. Listening to Konohamaru’s antics was often the hefty price he had to pay in exchange for not manning the register. Tuning him out was what usually happened when they were paired together, but Shikamaru could not shake the feeling that this _Hanabi_ girl he spoke of was oddly familiar, so he continued to listen.

When Konohamaru had called out a hazelnut latte though, his mind short-circuited and he wondered if she had come back. His heartrate picked up against better judgement and he felt like a school boy for getting so nervous about some woman, but he had chalked it up to living in fear of making an order wrong again. 

He had slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder and let out a breath of relief he didn’t even realize he’d been holding in when it was just some preteen girl standing at the counter. He had to remind himself that the Bothersome Blonde was most likely a tourist, just as he decided, and the likelihood of seeing her again was slim to none. It made no difference to think about someone he’d never see again, and he had better things to worry about anyways.

It didn’t stop him from being reminded of her with every passing blonde he saw, though.

Down the street and in the car one lane over and sometimes even in the reflection of his office building he’d catch himself staring a little too long at any instance of gold. It was starting to get a little unhealthy and he was wondering if he was _hoping_ to see her again. Which was stupid. Because she was bothersome in the whole five minutes they interacted with each other and so what if she was the most gorgeous person he’d ever seen? She was gone and maybe _eventually_ he’d forget about her. There was nothing special about her except for the fact that she was _that_ beautiful. There would be more beautiful women he’d see in his lifetime and maybe someday he’d appease his mother’s wishes by marrying one.

He was still trying to drill that into his head as he furiously scrubbed the porcelain mugs to extreme squeakiness when Asuma called out his name. 

“What’s up?” He responded as he wiped his hands on the front of his pants. 

“You think you could pick Mirai up from school?” The older man asked. He had soot streaked across patches of skin that weren’t covered by his beard and he smelled of ash.

Shikamaru made a noise. “She’s still in school?”

“Today’s her last day,” Asuma answered. “I’d go but I have to finish roasting the beans and Kurenai’s at some meeting ‘til four. Could you also grab some milk on your way back? We’re low and the milk guy doesn’t come until tomorrow." 

He glanced at the clock ( _1:45_ ) and grimaced. “Yeah, I guess but the office wants me in at three today so I can’t stay to finish my shift.”

Asuma shrugged and poured himself a glass of water. “I don’t think it’ll get any busier so Udon will be okay. You can clock out now, and I’ll give you money for the milk.” 

Shikamaru nodded and threw his rag into the sink as he approached the register. “You want one gallon or what?” 

“Two, just in case,” Asuma responded after taking a long sip. “Here’s ten for you on the counter.”

And then the ten-dollar bill got him thinking about the hazelnut latte that reminded him of the Bothersome Blonde. He pressed his lips into a thin line and felt his forehead crinkle in annoyance. He tried shaking it off as he tapped against the screen while reaching for the bill behind him. _It’s just a phase_ , he thought to himself, like the period of time he thought he could pull off a goatee.

“I’m leaving now,” he announced to Udon who only nodded.

The sun’s presence was sweltering and Shikamaru felt like he could die just then if he didn’t get into his car. The old thing came to life with a loud roar and blasted hot air into his face. 

As he waited for the cars to pass for him to pull out, he quickly tried figuring the numbers in his head. It’d take fifteen or so minutes to get to Mirai’s school, at which she would be (hopefully) waiting outside at approximately 2:03 just as she always did when he had picked her up. From there, the drive to the grocery store (on the way back to the shop) would take ten minutes and they would get the milk Asuma needed, and then be on their merry way back. He sucked a breath in between his teeth. It’d be cutting it close but he didn’t think he would be late. Just as long as they didn’t spend any longer than five minutes at the grocery store.

He arrived at 2:04. Straining his eyes to see through the stream of small children, he searched for a familiar mop of unruly black hair. As he suspected, she was expecting her father and not anybody else as she turned her head up and down the street. She clutched at the straps of her red backpack that was the same size as she was and pouted until he rolled down the passenger side window.

“Mirai!” 

She looked in his direction and gave him an open-mouthed smile. She was missing one of her front teeth. As she approached, he noticed that she had bandaids on both of her knees and Kurenai attempted to tame her hair into a single pigtail at the side of her head.

“Hi Mirai,” Shikamaru greeted but frowned when she stopped two feet in front of his car. “What are you doing?”

“Papa said not to get into a car with strangers,” she told him sagely. His frown deepened.

“Don’t do this again, Mirai,” he warned. 

 _Again_ referring to the time someone had overheard Mirai telling him she did not get into cars with strangers and promptly calling the police on him. There was an equal amount of phone calls made and pleading done to insist that Shikamaru was not a stranger and that Mirai was, in fact, just kidding. Asuma had laughed himself to tears until Kurenai stabbed him from across the room with one sharp look.

“We’re on a time crunch here,” he told her. “I’ll let you buy a candy if you get into the car.”

God, that sounded so creepy. He looked around to ensure that nobody would overhear _that_ in fear of having the police called again.

Mirai grinned wickedly at him and put her hands on her hips. “Can I have _two_ candies?”

“Is that what will make you get into the car?”

She nodded.

“Then two candies it is.”

“It’s a deal!” Mirai exclaimed as she pulled the door open and climbed in. He waited until she had secured the seatbelt over her lap to pull away from the school.

His eyes flickered from the rearview mirror to look at Mirai, the road, and to the clock in that order. “How was your last day of school?”

Mirai beamed. “It was fun! We got to play outside for a lot longer than recess and I saw three dogs!”

“That sounds exciting,” Shikamaru commented. “Were they big dogs?”  
  
“No, they were small dogs,” Mirai told him. “Their mama let me pet them and they were very fluffy.”

“Fluffy dogs _are_ nice,” he agreed with a nod.

As they pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store, she began to bounce with excitement.

“Why are we at the store?” She asked.

“Your dad needs milk.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s no more at the store.” 

“Why?”

He pulled into a spot closest to the door and put the car into park. “Because we used all of it.”

Mirai unclicked her seatbelt as she asked, again, “why?”

Shikamaru threw his door open and watched as Mirai scooted to his side of the car. He pulled the door open as she plopped to the ground on both feet. “Because people want coffee.”

That proved to be an acceptable final answer for Mirai as she grabbed his hand to cross the pavement and nodded. A quiet moment passed before she asked, “Does that mean I can’t have a hot chocolate when I see papa?”

His face scrunched up. “It’s ninety degrees out and you want a hot chocolate?” 

She nodded again. “I like to eat the cream on top.”

“You can eat the cream _without_ hot chocolate.”

 “I can?” Mirai gave him an incredulous look. “Mama says I can _only_ eat cream when it comes with hot chocolate.”

He made a noise. “Okay, I guess I was wrong then. If your mom says you can only eat it when it comes with the hot chocolate, then you can only eat it when it comes with the hot chocolate.” 

Shikamaru was always cautious to tread carefully around rules Kurenai made for Mirai. If one of them happened to be that she could not eat whipped cream without hot chocolate, then so be it. As an important figure in her life, she was especially impressionable to the things Shikamaru said to her so he had to be wary. Just like his own mother, Mirai’s mother scared the shit out of him when she was angry. 

Mirai was sixty-five pounds of solar-powered energy and black hair that bowed to no man. She feared only her mother and on the rare occasion, her father if he so dared raise his voice at his precious daughter. Shikamaru loved Mirai like the little sister he never had, having known her from when she was still in the womb. The little Sarutobi was suspicious of most people save the handful of people that consisted of Ino, Chouji, Konohamaru and his two friends, “Auntie Hina” and “Naru,” but even then she was apprehensive to be left alone with them. Since Asuma and Kurenai had relied on him the most to take care of Mirai, she in turn grew to love him the most (which was hard to believe given all the times she had tried to get him arrested).

All in all, she was a smart girl, a good kid, and a constant white light in his life. If things were going to shit (which, unfortunately, was quite often), Shikamaru could at least rely on Mirai to sit with him and eat candy until both of their stomachs began to hurt. 

“We’re going to get the milk first, and then we can get your candy,” he informed her. Mirai gave a thoughtful nod as he led her to the dairy aisle. He glanced at the time on his phone ( _2:16_ ) and then at the milk in front of him.

I won’t be late I won’t be late I won’t be late, he chanted in his mind as he let go of Mirai’s hand to grab the two gallons of milk Asuma had requested.

“I can help carry one!” Mirai offered excitedly as she reached for the jug.

“Are you sure? It’s heavy,” he said hesitantly. She managed to carry it with a slight hobble towards the candy section as he followed behind her.

“Can I get a chocolate bar?” She asked with big, bright, red eyes filled with excitement. She had set the jug down and switched from glancing at the endless rows of candy to him, waiting for approval.

“You can get whatever you want as long as it’s less than five dollars. They teach you math yet in school?” Shikamaru asked wearily. He had learned that the older he got, the less he remembered about what a regular six-year-old should know. 

“Uh huh,” Mirai responded. “I’m getting this one.”

She handed him a store brand chocolate bar that was a dollar before turning back to face the rows. Mirai had puffed her cheeks out in concentration as she pondered which candy would be lucky enough to follow her home.  

He took the moment to snap a quick picture of her standing there with her arms crossed to Ino and Chouji, before glancing at the time. _2:19._

Shikamaru clicked his tongue. “All right, peanut, we’ve gotta go.”

“Okay, I want this one too!” Mirai finally decided as she handed him a dollar’s worth of gummies. He watched her to ensure the jug was held securely and then began off to the registers.

He fell into a line behind one other shopper and lifted the jug Mirai had been carrying onto the conveyor belt. As he waited for the cashier to get through ringing the other items, Shikamaru’s eyes began to wander absently to the other shoppers until they fell at the head of blonde hair two lanes over.

He shouldn’t have been staring, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. It probably wasn’t her but it didn’t hurt to confirm, right? It wasn’t until she threw her head back into a bark of a laugh that he _knew._

Shikamaru watched (guiltily) as she continued to laugh, raising a hand to cover her mouth and knock a fist gently into the shoulder of… a red-haired man. Something in his chest sunk, against better judgement, as he watched the redhead frown despite the blush that bloomed across his pale face at whatever the Bothersome Blonde had said. She continued to laugh under her breath as she reached into her purse to pay for their groceries.  

Well. If she hadn’t been a tourist, at least he knew now she was off the market. Which should have been enough to divert his eyes and pretend he hadn’t been thinking about her incessantly for the past two some weeks.

But it wasn’t, and he kept staring. Again, _against better judgement._

This was what he (subconsciously) wanted, wasn’t it? To see her again? (and be completely, utterly disappointed in the male figure that blushed beside her?

To say that he was jealous would be outrageously creepy and he was _not_ going to stoop to that level just fucking yet.)

He pressed his lips into a hard line and felt his eye twitch. The redhead’s lips barely moved but was enough to elicit an impish smirk from the Bothersome Blonde as she patted his cheek.

“Shikamaru!” It was Mirai’s voice. 

His body jolted back into the present situation he was currently in and he suddenly remembered that he needed to bring Mirai to King’s and then go to wo— _fuck!_

“Sir?” The sleepy cashier mumbled. “Your total’s nine dollars and fifty-seven cents.”

“Right, sorry—wait,” he paused his hand that moved towards the ten-dollar bill in his pocket with narrowed eyes. “It can’t be that much.” 

He then turned his head to face the end of the belt where Mirai was hastily packing away one two three four _five!_ candy-related items. She tried not to make eye-contact with him as she hummed innocently to herself and if it were not for the fact that he was going to be _very_ late, he would have given her a strong word about how five candies did not equate two.

The cashier handed him his change and he grabbed the two jugs of milk as Mirai swung her bag of candy, patiently waiting for him. When Shikamaru turned his head to look two lanes over he saw that the Bothersome Blonde and her Redheaded Companion had left.

He gritted his teeth and shook his head. So, perhaps _not_ a tourist but if she was a native, he wouldn’t have a chance with her anyways. All that was left was to scrub his mind clean and wipe his hands of her image. That was when he redirected his attention to Mirai.

“I said two candies, Mirai. _Two._ ”

She followed him obediently out of the grocery store as if she had done nothing wrong. “You said I could get anything as long as it was under five dollars.”

Mirai said it so matter-of-a-fact he was almost proud. He sighed, then said, “Well, you can explain that to your dad then.”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed in agreement. “Papa won’t be mad. ‘Sides, you were staring at that pretty lady and didn’t even notice I put them on the spinny-spinny!” 

He just about choked. “I was— _what?_ No. I definitely wasn’t.”

“She was _really_ pretty,” she continued, ignoring his sputtering. “Do you think Mama could do my hair that way too?”

He knew she was referring to the four pig tails the Bothersome Blonde wore with effortless grace that would have otherwise looked horrendous on anyone else. Shikamaru patted Mirai on the head and plucked at her single pigtail. “Hair’s not long enough yet, peanut.” 

“But _could_ she?” Mirai insisted. If he were to stop thinking about the Bothersome Blonde and her uniquely distinct hairstyle, the first step would be _not_ to think of said hairstyle.

As a countermeasure, Shikamaru said, “Eggplant has gotten bigger since you last saw him.”

Mirai gasped in surprise as she climbed into the backseat of his car beside the jugs of milk. “Did he really? Can I see Eggplant soon?”

“You’ve got to ask your dad,” he said, feeling just a big smug about his successful shift in conversation.

“I miss Eggplant!” Mirai exclaimed as she bounced in her seat with hands clasped together. She had grown quite fond of the fish over the years and from the times she had spent at his apartment, despite the fact that Eggplant did nothing but swim endlessly in circles and glare at anybody who entered through the front door. It was a reminder that sometimes the simplest things entertained children.

“And he misses you,” Shikamaru assured as he not-so-subtly sped his way to King’s.  

It was 2:37 when he finally pulled up to the shop with an ungraceful _skrrt_ against the curb. He ushered Mirai out of the car towards the shop as she clutched her bag of goodies and continued on about Eggplant until her eyes fell onto her father.

“Papa!” Her footsteps were little pitter-patters against the tile until she jumped into Asuma’s burly arms. He scooped her up effortlessly and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Hi little monkey,” his voice was a rumble in his chest. “How was school?” 

Mirai began reciting the details of her last day of school all while shaking the bag of candy as her father set her back onto the ground. Shikamaru hurried around the corner to throw the jugs of milk into the fridge before coming back around to where Asuma and Mirai stood. He fished the whole forty-three cents out of his pocket and knocked Asuma’s arm with the back of his hand. Automatically and out of habit, his boss outstretched his own hand to receive the change as he listened intently to Mirai’s story.

He grimaced and looked directly at him when he noticed the change. “Jeez, how much is milk now?”

“Milk was four-fifty,” Shikamaru said with his hands raised defensively. “That’s on Mirai.”

“What— _oh no_. What did you let her buy?” Asuma asked, sounding much more tired than just a moment before. 

“You ask her; I’ve got to go. See you later,” he said hastily halfway out the door.

If he drove very fast and took the stairs two at a time instead of the elevator to his apartment, changed in under two minutes, Shikamaru would only be three minutes late. He cursed himself for his awkward gawking at the (Not Single) Bothersome Blonde and wished he had a bit better self-control. He then cursed whoever changed the order of the fucking syrups because had it not been for that minor shift in his routine, she would have never come to the counter for him to stare at while they argued.

Shikamaru resolved to calling in to make it known that he was on his way on the off chance that fifth avenue would be closed _again_ due to some freak accident. Maybe he would also pick up a donut and risk the few extra minutes of being late on the gamble that the treat would possibly appease his boss’ anger. 

It’d be a gamble he was willing to make he thought as he took in a sharp breath.

“Hi. Fuu? It’s Shikamaru. Can you put me through to the DA?”  
  
There was static for one beat, two beats, three—

“Hey dad,” his apologetic voice was painfully forced. “I’m going to be a _few_ minutes late.”

* * *

The official title of his other position was _Legal Assistant,_ a fact that made Naruto simmer and bitch about often. His father called him a glorified intern, which in all, unfiltered honesty, was true. It was slightly illegal (ironically so for the office of the DA) to call him a legal assistant given that he mostly organized files and made copies past legal office hours, but it wasn’t a complete _lie_. From time to time, during days he would be summoned earlier into the office than usual, he and Naruto would make calls and schedule meetings with clients for the larger cases that would be divvied up to the senior ADAs.

Was his job unnecessary and given to him out of pity by a tired father? Possibly. But, Shikamaru didn’t give two shits as long as it helped pay for his lavish balcony apartment and a carton of cigarettes every week. If anybody had a problem with him making the lives of the ADAs’ easier, they could take it up with the DA himself.

Perhaps in an alternative reality Shikamaru would have had followed directly in his father’s footsteps to become the next DA (a feat Naruto was pursuing in his stead), though that presumption would be so bold in assuming that any alternative of him would have the drive to survive law school.

Shikamaru shuddered as he threw open his door, thinking back to three years ago when he had managed to drag himself through two months of Konohagakure’s School of Law before throwing in the towel. 

“You are so smart,” he remembered his mother saying when he voiced his decision, disappointed though not surprised. “But so, so _awfully_ lazy.”

His father, the DA, had made a noise behind his curtain of newspaper. “He _is_ a Nara, through and through.”

 _A Nara, through and through_ , he thought as he shook flakes of food into Eggplant’s bowl.

To say he had made a habit of sleeping from nine to two (sometimes three) in the morning instead of at a regular time like a regular person, just so he could listen to 710 play their guitar and sing, would be inaccurate. 

It took twenty-one days to form a habit, and a simple one at that.

Shaking food into Eggplant’s bowl after entering his apartment was a habit.

Putting his left shoe on first and _then_ his right shoe was a habit.

Smoking a cigarette on his balcony at night before a shower was a habit.

It just so happened that lately every time he went to smoke his habitual before-shower cigarette, 710 would be out there as well.

If going outside at two (sometimes three) in the morning to catch 710 playing their guitar and singing persisted for another week, he would admit then that it had become a habit. But, at that moment, Shikamaru considered it a coincidence. Because it was. Or, at least, that was how he saw it.

In truth, it kind of _was_ coincidence. Only ten out of the fourteen days so far had he managed to catch 710 playing (or perhaps practicing was a better way to put it). Sometimes he would beat them outside and they would play a song or even two; while other nights he would catch them in the middle of a song.

He considered himself a regular person with a regular liking to music. He enjoyed it when it came on and had some sort of taste, but otherwise was not super picky about what played. He didn’t keep up with bands or singers but he did have a few favorites, and there were some songs from his childhood that stirred a warm feeling in the pit of his belly he could name as nostalgia. 

But, there was something different about the music 710 produced that elicited a whole different kind of feeling and attachment to music inside of him. After that first night listening to them play, all other voices began to sound dull and boring. Listening to the mixes at King’s felt like a chore with having to endure singing that couldn’t compare to the voice of 710.

He thought at first that it might have been because he wasn’t so well-versed in the world of music that a live, acoustic voice in the middle of the night was so enchanting to him it made him _picky_. But he had been to live shows before, scoping out “competition” as Asuma called it by going to coffee shops that hosted live performances so he knew what live voices sounded like.

He didn’t know. Trying to overthink the fluttery feeling in his chest and the calm that washed over him like clouds rolling in to block out the sun was complicated, especially at three in the morning, so he just enjoyed it. He enjoyed it and the stillness of the city life and the little bumps that speckled his arms in response to soothing voice from one floor below. Ino used to talk about getting goosebumps from listening to a particular album, and he could at least relate now to the sentiment.

Shikamaru stepped out onto his balcony and over the hammock to reach the bars that kept him from falling eight stories down. It seemed that 710 had beat him outside again as the sound of their voice filled the void of the nighttime city silence.

Listening to 710 in the blackness of night was like stepping into a different realm, Shikamaru had resolved to thinking some night ago. As cliché as it could have sounded, and he tried avoiding clichés like the plague, it felt as if some being from above was singing. He hated himself for thinking such a thing, but it was the best way to put it. Having no face for the voice only further convinced him of the thought and made the singing even more ethereal. It was a special kind of thing to be experiencing; just him, his cigarette, and the passionate singing. 

He sometimes wondered what kind of person 710 was to sing the way they did. Wasn’t that how singing, among the other arts, worked? A person would have to be inspired in order to inspire? He wondered what inspired their love for music, or whether it was out of obligation—something like having been forced to take lessons when they were a child and as an adult having to keep the skills sharp.

When the final note of the song was strummed, Shikamru acted against better judgement and clapped. Succinctly, four times in succession, with his cigarette dangling out of his mouth. 

The response surprised 710 as much as it surprised him, the former having let out a yelp. 

Maybe it was ten nights too late to clap, but his mother _did_ raise him to show appreciation to all things beautiful.

“Sorry,” Shikamaru said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t think anyone was awake around this time, let alone listening,” 710 responded with a terse laugh.

“I have a hard time sleeping,” Shikamaru disclosed (though he left out the bit of being a self-inflicted insomniac at that point). “I like to come outside and smoke a bit. And listen, I guess.”

“Ah,” 710 sighed. “You listen often then?”

“You could say that.” _There was nothing else to lose after clapping_ , he thought; might as well admit that he had been listening for the past two weeks.

They— _she_ laughed again. 710 was a woman, he could tell now. She laughed in a way that reminded him of Ino. “Thanks, I’m flattered. It’s a nice feeling to know I have an audience.” 

“You’re good,” he blurted then quickly asked, “Is there a reason why you play this late at night?”

“Am I keeping you from trying to sleep?” Something in her voice suggested that she was joking, but he couldn’t be sure without seeing her face.

“No,” he said firmly. “Just curious.” 

“I’ve been having sleep problems too,” she admitted. “Still trying to get used to the apartment and the city. Playing helps clear my head.” 

That made sense. He didn’t play an instrument himself, but he figured it worked in the same way smoking and making coffee wiped his mind clean like a slate. He made a face at the realization. Obviously that was how it worked, genius. That was why they were both out there at the same time, wasn’t it? He was smoking his cigarettes and she was playing her guitar? He shook his head. 

“So, I’m suspecting that playing outside would disturb the neighbors less?” Shikamaru asked.

“I mean, sort of,” 710 said. “My brother’s asleep inside and hell hath no fury like my baby brother when his sleep is disturbed.” 

Shikamaru chuckled as he thought of Chouji. His best friend was something else when woken up too early in the morning, so he could relate.

“Ah well, coming from a native, getting used to the city will take a while,” he said.

Living in downtown Konohagakure was much different than living in the outskirts of the city near his childhood home beside the Nara Forest. There was only half an hour between the two locations, but the change was quite substantial to him for the first few years. It was during the first week of freshman orientation, he could recall, feeling antsy to be away from his parents for longer than two weeks. The consistent noise of traffic and bumping into people on the streets and endless source of coffee probably made him the caffeinated grouch he was now, but maybe it was also hanging out with Naruto and Chouji too much that did it as well. Regardless, he remembered the shift in lifestyle had taken some time to adapt to.

“Yeah I figured as much,” she sighed. “I mean, I’m a city girl to the core, but this is so much different than… well, it’s just different.”

The tone of her voice was tired and maybe even a little wistful.

That caused him to furrow his brow. So she had come from a city but somewhere that was _different_ than the city of Konohagakure. He had always thought cities were similar in characteristic, but maybe not. She also didn’t say where that city was. Was she sad that the largest city in the country was not what it was made out to be? He bit his tongue to sever the question that dared to jump from his mouth. He was curious, but not curious enough to pry into a stranger’s personal life.

Because that’s what she was. A stranger. 

“I get it.” He didn’t, not really, because he was (as he said) a native. “But, if you, uh, if you need any advice? I guess? I can help.” 

A stranger. Offering help. To a stranger. 

He glanced at the glaringly white screen of his phone. _4:06 A.M._

Maybe being sleep-deprived and entranced by a voice in the night made him more charitable than he usually was. 

“Advice?” 710 echoed. “Like what kind of advice, Konohagakure-native?” 

There was that _something_ in her voice again; a certain lilt that could have suggested she was joking.

He wasn’t sure to laugh or be offended.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, forgetting that she couldn’t see him. “Whatever about the city, I guess.”

In the foreground of his mind, he saw that there was no logical reason for one: striking up a conversation with the person he (almost) made a habit of listening to sing every night, and two: offering said person _advice_ and _help_ about the city (when he didn’t even know them!). 

(In the background of his mind, Shikamaru wondered if 710 would continue to sing every night on her balcony between two and four in the morning (for him to listen). He wondered if she would take up his offer to ask for advice about his city. He wondered if they would have more conversations like this in the dark.)


	3. girls do what they want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took forever!! i was going through some writer's block but finally managed to power through. i know i said in the tags there'd be a _lil_ bit of worldbuilding but i couldn't help myself when it came to Kushina and Uzushio. Uzushio is one of my favorite places in Naruto and I wish we got to learn more about the lore of the place. i made a very minor change in the first chapter, but i decided that the villages connected by land are part of one whole country while Uzushiogakure and Kirigakure would be there own countries (sort of like Australia or something lol). there's really no reason besides having Kushina be an actual princess bc i am Selfish. so to recap, Konohagakure and Sunagakure are **states** that are seven hours apart. 
> 
> also, i work at a farmer's market over the summer with my family so this entire chapter was heavily inspired by many of my own experiences lol 
> 
> besides that, i hope this chapter isn't too bad. i'm not very happy with it because i'm excited to get towards the actual, developed conversations Shikamaru and 710 will have but we have to work our way up there. 
> 
> anyways, enjoy-

**“girls do what they want” – the maine**  
.  
“ _it’s her face and those eyes, I can’t escape ‘em_ ”  
.

He would probably combust into flames before ever admitting to his mother and Kurenai that he actually _enjoyed_ going to the farmer’s market with them.

The Sunday ritual had fallen into the routine of his life almost seamlessly, so much so that Shikamaru couldn’t even remember when it had started. He could remember, however, having to keep up the attitude that he disliked the market given that that was his initial response to it. The market had grown on him over the years, but he wouldn’t let his mother have the satisfaction of successfully forcing something domestic onto him. (Mind you, it wasn’t because he was some misogynistic piece of shit that thought shopping at the market should’ve been a _women’s_ thing but more so of the fact that his mother had been trying tirelessly to get him to take care of himself by buying fresh groceries like a regular person and to stop being a _lazy_ piece of shit.)

“Ma,” he called out to his mother who rummaged through the fresh produce at an old woman’s stand. She turned and directed a smile at him then to the cup of coffee in his hands.

Even with the years of built up callouses that ran from the tips of his fingers to the heels of his hands, the market coffee was like holding a pot straight off the burner. He hurriedly handed her the scalding hot drink to match the scalding heat of the morning weather. Why his mother wanted to drink a hot coffee during the summer escaped even his genius. 

“How’s Deibu?” His mother asked. Deibu was the market coffee man.

“Good,” he responded a little too sharply as a result of still trying to brush off the hangover that haunted him. His mother was used to it, though, and figured that he was just being a Sunday Morning grouch.

“Kurenai said she should be here soon,” she went on, adjusting the basket at the bend of her arm. “She’s bringing Mirai.”

“I’m surprised she was able to wake up this early,” he muttered after taking a sip from the iced black coffee he held in his hand slick with condensation. Shikamaru was quite particular with his coffee after spending so much time with Asuma in the shop, and Deibu only purchased beans roasted by his boss—buying coffee from any other person at the market was almost sacrilegious to him.

“Kids have more energy than us old folk,” his mother said, openly referring to the jokes his father made about him being an eighty-year-old man. “She’s still excited about waking up early." 

“Wish I could relate.”

His mother ignored him.

“Ah, here they come.” 

Down the stall of the outdoor market and in the golden glow of the eight a.m. sunlight came Mirai dragging her mother towards them. Kurenai gave a little wave.

“Good morning,” she greeted as Mirai jumped to wrap her arms around his hips.  
  
“Shikamaru! I missed you!”

“I literally saw you yesterday—did you know she tried to get me arrested again?” He said with a voice that feigned annoyance as he turned to Kurenai. Despite that though, his hand had fallen onto the top of Mirai’s head in an affectionate pat.

“Mirai,” she began in a warning tone with a frown. “What did your father and I tell you?”

“Papa thinks it’s funny,” Mirai said in response while she continued clutching at him, as if he were about to come to her aid and support her claim.

With his hand on her head, he noticed then that Kurenai had attempted to pull Mirai’s hair into two pigtails at either side. Her baby hairs had disobeyed and stuck out in all places. Unruly, Asuma had commented, just like her mother’s.

Kurenai sighed. “Well, that means no mini donuts today—” Mirai began to protest. “Besides, you have a cavity.”

“Harsh punishment, Kurenai,” he drawled while his mother made a noise of amused agreement beside him. Mirai only looked up at her mother with a pout and crossed arms. 

“That works on your father but not me,” Kurenai said sternly.

“All right,” his mother intervened with a laugh. “We better get going before the bakery sells out of its honey loaves. Are you coming with us?”

Shikamaru shook his head and jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna go this way first.” 

“Mama, can I go with Shikamaru?” Mirai’s face was still red and blotchy from being denied mini donuts (which surely had to be the only thing that lured her out of bed this morning), though he was surprised she hadn’t burst into tears.

Her mother considered that for a moment before nodding. “You can go with Shikamaru. But no mini donuts.”

Kurenai made that explicitly clear by wagging a finger in both of their faces.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” he said and watched as they finally headed off towards the opposite direction. When they were out of earshot, Mirai looked up at him with sad eyes. 

“No mini donuts,” Mirai lamented with the deepest of frowns, her hands thrown up over her head.

Shikamaru watched his mother and Kurenai wander further away until they were specks among the crowd. He then turned his attention back to Mirai and motioned for her to take his hand.

“You know,” he said, beginning in the direction of the mini donut stand. “If you eat them really fast, it’s almost like you _didn’t_ even have mini donuts in the first place.”

He was cautious with the rules Kurenai made for her daughter, it was true, but that did not mean he was also consistent with following them.

The two of them devoured the oily and sticky globs of dough in under two minutes. Mirai had cinnamon and sugar speckled all over her mouth, and he would bet the last dollar in his wallet that she would be complaining about a stomachache in no less than ten minutes, but he decided that with the way she beamed it was worth it. As long as Kurenai did not find out, all would be well.

“Oh my,” a voice called from behind them. “Is that Shikamaru and Mirai I see?”

As he turned to take on whoever was trying to speak to him this earlier in the morning, he immediately found that he didn’t have to muster the effort to at all. 

“Senator,” he greeted, the smile on his face coming easily.

She clicked her tongue and waved a hand at him. “How many times have I told you to just call me Kushina?”

“Auntie!” Mirai squealed as she bounded towards Kushina. The Senator scooped her up into her arms with a laugh.

“What a treat to see you both!” She gave him a bright smile and set Mirai back down before clapping a hand to his shoulder. “How have you been?”

He shrugged and beckoned Mirai back to their side as she began to wander towards a dog. “It’s been all right. How’s senator business?”

“Oh you know how it is. Same thing different day it seems like in these times of peace.”

Senator Uzumaki Kushina had brokered such peace her first few years in office. It was during a time of decaying economic stability that the Konohagakure senator was ushered into. It had been thanks to her quick thinking and ability to negotiate with the other states on plans to keep the country afloat, working well with her husband to ensure that at least Konohagakure would be able to rise from the financial destruction. She had learned thoroughly how to deal with such situations after watching the downfall of her own home in Uzushiogakure.

Some had said they were so fortunate that Senator Uzumaki and Governor Namikaze were married, and able to think along the same wavelength at the same time to save them all. It had been the perfect time for the two rookie politicians to show the world what they were made of.

“I get it,” he responded, thinking of his monotonous days in the office filing papers (which probably could not even compare to life in the senator’s shoes but he made the comparison anyways). “Wedding preparations have got you guys swamped though, yeah?” 

The squeal Kushina let out was an answer enough. “Oh, yes, it’s been quite a lot of work but I am _so_ excited!”

“Wedding?” Mirai piped up, looking at the two of them with a twinkle in her eye. “Is this Auntie Hina’s wedding?”

“Yes, it is, little one,” Kushina responded with a finger to Mirai’s nose. “We’re all very excited, even if it’s still six months away.”

It was a sentiment the general public could relate to as well. His blond, knuckleheaded best friend (outside the realm of Ino and Chouji) was living something like a modern-day fairytale. It was not uncommon that children of Governors were acclaimed by the general public (it was a fate his esteemed coffee shop boss, Asuma, had been subjected to ever since his father’s retirement from office); but what was uncommon was also being the son of a Princess of Uzushiogakure. 

Had Uzushio not fallen to economic turmoil, Kushina would have been _Queen_ Uzumaki instead of Senator. But, that reality would also operate under the assumption that she would not have swapped her tiara and title for her law degree and seat in the senate anyways. Even as the country of Uzushio continued to be a stagnant ruin, Kushina was still called Princess in some media outlets and her son a Prince.

Needless to say, it made boasting for Naruto at least one hundred times easier whenever he was reminded of his royal heritage. Which, unfortunately, was quite often. 

“Ah, yeah,” he said, adjusting the canvas bag tucked beneath his arm. “You guys figure out a ring bearer yet?” 

He could recall Naruto’s complaints over having no other relatives with younger children that could stand in as ring bearer on either side of the wedding party. Shikamaru did not care for much of the wedding business (even if he _was_ the best man), and often chose avoiding the topic of the wedding altogether if he could since it was all Naruto ever wanted to talk about. He was excited and happy for his best friend, but there was a certain threshold at which talking about something became horribly aggravating; especially when such content involved mostly gushing about how much one loved their fiancé. He decided if he could get an update on current wedding affairs from Kushina, Naruto would not feel the need to disclose the details to him.

He nodded to himself. It was a good idea.

“Oh, you know actually, Naruto decided that Kurama will be the ring bearer!”

He did not have enough energy that morning to stop his face from falling and the look of pure horror to take place. Kushina was kind enough not to react as she continued to beam at the fact.

“Kurama,” he repeated slowly, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “The dog.”

Calling Kurama a dog was quite generous, as he thought about it. Rabid hellhound from the chambers of the underworld sounded much more accurate. 

Naruto’s treasured pet (from hell) was an old thing who had been in the family for quite some time. He did not like anybody outside of the family, and could not tolerate strangers. It was a miracle he warmed up to Hinata at all. Naruto didn’t enjoy it when people spoke badly of his precious dog, often standing up for him by insisting it just took some time for him to get used to people; or that it was his advanced age that made him irritable. He had tried to pet Kurama once. It also happened to be the only time he’d almost lost his hand. To this day, Naruto still insisted the events were mutually exclusive. 

“Yes, Naruto is especially excited about that. Though, Minato doesn’t think he can do it,” she said with pursed lips and a furrowed brow. “Something about old dogs can’t learn new tricks.”

He refrained from pointing out that Kurama would probably lose control and attack everyone before even making it to the bride and groom. Instead, he decided to be a bit supportive, and said, “There’s still six months. I’m sure he’ll be able to.” 

“Yes, exactly!” Kushina exclaimed. Her enthusiasm simmered down for a moment before she urged him closer and lowered her voice. “You won’t believe what Hiashi did, though.”

He didn’t feel qualified enough to be privy to such secrets the respective parents of the bride and groom had regarding the wedding but leaned in closer anyways. “What did he do.”

“He gifted Naruto a Hyuuga from his own _personal_ collection!” Kushina did not lower her voice upon revealing the secret, but it still held its shock value.

“You’re kidding,” he responded with genuine surprise. He felt like he was gossiping with Ino the way the three of them had moved off to the side of the walkway to discuss wedding details.

Kushina nodded vigorously with wide eyes. “No, really, he sent a driver and everything.”

“Do you think since I’m best man he could gift me one too?” Shikamaru mused half-jokingly. He would definitely not complain about getting a new car, and a Hyuuga at that. “He knows my dad’s the DA, yeah?”

“I think that’s something you have to take up with Hiashi,” Kushina said, matching his tone with a grin. “You’re not the one marrying his baby girl after all.”

The Hyuuga were an old, prestigious family of Konohagakure that began their financial dynasty through automobile manufacturing. Over the generations, they grew from Hyuuga Motors to Hyuuga Enterprise and began supplying many household appliances in addition to luxury vehicles. It was the reason as to why the wedding had become a publicly awaited affair; an urban Prince of old Uzushiogakure marrying a Hyuuga Heiress seemed like a once in a lifetime event. Shikamaru had also joked it was exactly like Naruto to follow in his father’s footsteps to marry someone as close to a princess as he could.

“Maybe he’ll give out Hyuugas as party favors,” he said, prompting Kushina to laugh.

“That would be great, wouldn’t it? Anyways, I should get going,” she told them. “Are your mothers around?”

“They’re buying bread!” Mirai exclaimed as he nodded to confirm.

“Oh good, I’m sure I’ll run into them at some point,” Kushina said. “It was so good to see the both of you, take care now!" 

“Bye Auntie!” Mirai said. 

“I’ll see you later, Senator,” he said.

“It’s Kushina!” She called back with a wave before blending in with the crowd.

Seeing Kushina was always nice given her sunny disposition and easiness of conversation. He could remember all the times he and Chouji had spent at Naruto’s house where she had showered them with treats. Knowing the Senator personally had also always been a great thing on his end; he felt at peace knowing that Konohagakure’s seated politicians actually gave a damn about their state and their people. 

Shikamaru glanced down at Mirai who had instinctively took his hand. They wandered throughout the market and gathered things for him to eat over the course of the week—potatoes, carrots, fresh berries, daikon, a variety of herbs. He was thinking of picking up some cuts of meat at the grocery store when they passed a fruit stand that sold mangoes.

“Wait,” he said to Mirai who continued walking forward. “I’m gonna get some mangoes.”

“Mama loves mangoes,” she told him as she grasped the table to look at the assorted mangoes.

“Do you still have the five dollars I gave you?” He asked her. Shikamaru had given her a five-dollar bill from his wallet after she complained about not having any money. She insisted on wanting to feel _grown-up_ just like him.

“Uh huh,” Mirai responded as she fished the bill out of her pocket.

“You can buy her a mango,” Shikamaru said. “It’ll be a surprise.” 

“That’s a good idea!” Mirai agreed, waving the bill around. “Can I have a mango please?”

The elderly man smiled down at her and handed her a red mango. He examined a few mangoes himself and set them aside while he reached for his own wallet. Looking off to the side before extracting the three dollars needed for the mangoes was not part of the mental instruction his brain provided for his body, but it happened anyways.

It was then that he had to do a double-take at the mass of blonde hair and tan skin near the end of the stall. _There’s no fucking way_ , he thought, as his eyes locked onto the familiar figure who was purchasing a pot of red flowers. Maybe it wasn’t her and his mind was playing its awful tricks on his eyes again.

But, at that exact moment, she had to do the worst thing possible. 

She caught his gaze, titled her head, and _smiled._

She fucking smiled. 

The sun was already out but at the curl of those lips, it was as if a whole new light brightened the entire stall. Something shelved away in his chest came loose and he knew he was fucked. He couldn’t hear or see anything else around him except for the cut of her smile; and he would’ve slapped himself upside the head for being disgustingly corny if it were not for the fact that every muscle in his body was entangled in the single image of her _smile_. It was a sharp, open-mouthed smile but not menacing, one corner pulled up higher than the other. He thought of the way the light must’ve caught in the green-blue of her eyes and he was suddenly very upset that they weren’t any closer. She was already so goddamn beautiful and she had to make it worse by _smiling_ at him (of all people!).

He could’ve smiled back— _should’ve_ smiled back; that was the polite thing regular human beings did, they smiled back at people who smiled at them. But maybe she wasn’t smiling at him and instead at someone _behind_ him, like an instance of waving at somebody who waved at you except it wasn’t to you but to the person behind you, beside you, not _you._ She must’ve done it to be friendly. That was the friendly thing to do in public settings, to smile at someone when they caught your eye (except he was staring (!!!) in _public_ at this beautiful woman!). When did he stop breathing and when did his eyes get so dry?

When he finally blinked, there was a splash of red suddenly by her side and not in her hands. She had stopped smiling at him and turned away to look at the man beside her who spoke without moving his lips much, almost like he was talking under his breath. 

“Shikamaru dear, close your mouth. That’s how you attract flies.” 

It was his mother’s voice that snapped him out of his trance, with her fingers tapping beneath his chin slightly. How embarrassing.

“What were you looking at?” Kurenai asked with the mango Mirai had bought for her in her hands.

He looked at the two of them and then back at the spot where the Bothersome Blonde was, only to find she had disappeared. Was she even real if she kept disappearing like that?

“Nothing,” he said plainly and scooped his mangoes into the bag. “It was nothing.”

Except that it definitely _was not_ nothing. Not even remotely, if the frantic pace his heart picked up at was any indication of it not being nothing.

* * *

He slipped out onto his balcony with a bowl of oatmeal cradled against his chest and a pack of cigarettes in his other hand, then used his foot to slide the door close. The familiar sound of a guitar being played filled the night and filled him with a sense of calm. He took a seat in his hammock and reached over to place the pack onto the railing of the balcony. 710 sang lyrics he could not recognize with a tune that seemed new as well now that he listened carefully.

When she finally concluded the song, he asked with a mouthful of oatmeal, “Is that an original?”

“It is,” 710 said without any hesitation, as if she were expecting him. “It’s not good?”

“No,” he said after swallowing. “It’s good. Just never heard something like it, so I figured it was an original.”

“Do you keep track of what I play?” She asked in that _maybe she’s joking but it’s hard to tell_ tone.

“Would that be a problem?” He countered, looking at the large berries in his bowl. The blueberries were exceptionally sweet.

She laughed in tandem with the tuning of her guitar and he imagined she was shaking her head as well. “No, not really. I’m just a little surprised you could tell.”

“Mostly a lucky guess really,” he admitted. He thought about telling her his lack of familiarity with popular music but figured that would mean nothing to someone who was probably so much more immersed in it than he was. He would’ve just sounded like he was trying too hard by pointing out that he didn’t even listen to what other people listened to, and he wanted to avoid coming across as that kind of asshole.

“It doesn’t have a title yet,” she told him. “I’m still figuring that out.”

“Is it hard?” He asked, accidentally clinking his spoon against the porcelain bowl. He didn’t think he would be well-apt at writing music; he could vaguely remember a creative writing class in high school that he had not done very good in. He figured they were along similar lines, as in making things flow and pleasing the ears of listeners.

“Naming songs?” She responded.

“I guess. I mean, writing lyrics too. Is that hard?" 

There was a stretch of silence for a moment before 710 hummed. “Not as hard as you would think, if you’re thinking it’s hard. But I’ve been doing this for a while, so it’s probably a little easier for me than someone who’s starting out.” 

“That’s cool,” he said genuinely. Because it was. He thought about the few songs he knew the lyrics of by heart and the ones 710 came up with, wondering what sort of creativity flowed through their minds to be able to create strings of words to evoke such feelings. He was smart and innovative but it would’ve been difficult to say he was artistically talented in the slightest.

“Yeah,” 710 said. “I played a different one last night.”

Shikamaru grunted as he chewed on the mush with a raised eyebrow. It was a subtle way to point it out, but he hadn’t expected his absence to have been noticed last night. Though, it wasn’t _entirely_ his fault for not making it last night—getting horribly drunk Saturday nights with his friends only happened every so often now and falling asleep on the floor was an even rarer occurrence. He had to take those opportunities when they came, even if it meant missing his downstairs neighbor playing peace into him.

“I missed it,” he said, almost apologetically. Which, he didn’t really know _why_ he did _._ It wasn’t as if he made some explicit promise to be there every night to listen to her play (even if that was what had been happening for the past few weeks). But, it would have been a lie to say that he didn’t feel a bit bad. After (almost) making a habit of coming out to his balcony to listen to the night songs, he felt something like guilt pang in his chest at missing an original song. He figured it was also kind of shitty to leave somebody hanging after talking to them the night before.

“Did you finally get a good night’s sleep?” She asked. This time he could tell exactly that she was joking with him. 

“You could say that,” he managed through a mouthful of oatmeal. “Got really drunk and passed out on the floor last night.”

Naruto had insisted since they all could afford to get as drunk as they could with no Sunday repercussions to loom over them besides a massive hangover, they should go all out. Hence, falling asleep on his living room floor before even making it to his bed. Shikamaru was getting a little too old to go shot for shot with Naruto, but with only his ritual farmer’s market visit in the next few hours, he thought he would give it a go to relive their college days.

He woke up that morning with a pounding headache even though he managed to sleep more than three hours, but it only took a lot of water and coffee to clean the hangover out of his system. He also attributed a bit of the hangover to the headache that he went to bed with after Ino talked his ear off about the tattoo guy she’d been trying to fuck for the past month and a half.

“Are you—are you eating?” 710 asked suddenly. He had placed his bowl on the ground (a joke-gift from Chouji some years ago detailed with cats chasing butterflies) and reached for the pack of cigarettes.

“I was, yeah.”

“This late?”

He glanced at his phone and saw it was half past three in the morning. “I was hungry.”

He refrained from explaining his horrible eating habits that accompanied his even more horrible sleep schedule.

“What’d you eat?”

“Some oatmeal and berries I got this morning.” He prided himself for the healthy meal that late at night. His mother would be proud. 

She sputtered out a laugh that forced a frown out of him.

“What’s funny?” He asked with the cigarette between his lips and the opened lighter in front of his face.

“Are you eighty-five?” 710 finally managed to ask after her laughter died down. 

“No,” he said despite the fact that it often felt like it and the jokes his father made. “Oatmeal’s good.”

“Maybe if you’re a senior citizen.” 

“I’m twenty-five,” he said, ignoring her comment. “So you’re off by sixty years.”

“Twenty-five,” she echoed. “You’re young.”

“Depends on who thinks so. Are _you_ eighty-five?”

“No, but my brothers probably think so with the way I bitch at them about doing laundry,” she said with another laugh. “Twenty-eight.”

“Twenty-five is _not_ young compared to twenty-eight,” he deadpanned after taking a long drag from his cigarette.  
  
“I was talking by the time you came out into the world,” she pointed out and he couldn’t help rolling his eyes. 

“I mean, I guess,” he allowed.

There was a moment of silence where neither of them said anything and it was just the wind that whistled between them, the smoke from his cigarette circling before him.

“Hey,” 710 broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“’Bout what?” He asked, remembering his offer to give advice about Konohagakure. He flicked the ash into the tray beside his feet. 

“The city,” she said, as he suspected. He took another drag.

“Ah okay. Shoot.”

“Are there any tattoo shops around? Like obviously there are some, but I’d rather ask someone who’d know than look on the internet.”

“I get it,” he responded and crushed the cigarette into the ashtray. He thought about the tattoo guy Ino had been trying to get with, amused by the coincidence in 710 asking about a tattoo shop all of a sudden.

“There’s this place called Roots,” he told her. “If you go down the street until you get to fifteenth ave and take a left, it’s right next to a thrift shop. Ask for Sai; I think that’s his name.”

710 hummed a response. “Okay. Do they do piercings?”

“Probably?” He tried. He had gotten his ears pierced at a mall kiosk when he was fourteen after Ino insisted they solidified their friendship as a trio a year before the customary ear piercing their respective families went through. She had been the only one who didn’t cry. Since then, the hoops that turned to studs kept the holes in his ears and he never needed to get them re-pierced. He also didn’t have any desire to get anything else pierced, especially after the near-traumatic experience Ino had put him through.

“That’s real helpful,” 710 drawled. 

“Hey, you asked for a tattoo shop,” he said. “I’ve never gotten pierced there, but I would be really surprised if they didn’t.”

“So you have some?” 

“Huh?”

“Piercings.” 

“Oh,” he said, instinctively reaching for the studs in his ears. “Yeah. Just my ears.”

“Ah,” 710 said. 

“What?”

“I was expecting somewhere crazy, like under your tongue or something.”

He made a noise of disgust. “Yeah, no, that’s fucking scary. What are you getting done?”

She laughed at his response then sighed. “Back in college, I had my cartilage pierced; my other brother and I got them done together but mine closed up.”  

“Oh,” he said again. He tried imagining what she would have looked like as a person who would get a cartilage piercing, but nothing came to mind. All he could see was a silhouette and the piercing that sparkled in the night.

“You said you’ve never been pierced there,” she recalled. “So did you get tattooed there?”

“Yeah,” he answered. This time he reached to touch the back of his neck, fingers running the length of the tattoo that stretched to just behind his ears. “I got antlers done with two of my best friends. One behind each ear that point at the top of my spine.”

It was a simple piece with thin line work that he had gotten with Ino and Chouji, which as he thought about it then seemed like quite a trend when it came to permanent modifications to his body. Ino had gotten the curl of a pig’s tail in the same spot (a spring, she would tell most people), while Chouji chose the wings of a butterfly. They were done for their namesakes, they decided, for the pride of their families. He often forgot he even had the two antlers until somebody asked upon seeing them given that he rarely saw the back of his neck.

“Antlers?” 710 said. 

“Yeah. After my namesake,” he offered the thought that had just passed through his mind.

“I see,” 710 said. “I’ve got one behind my neck too.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she confirmed. There was a pause and it was then that her voice shifted into that wistful tone he had heard two nights before when she spoke of her home. “My mom used to call me her golden sun so I got that done a while ago.”

“That’s… nice,” he said as sincere as he could. Maybe it was the nighttime that drew out sadness and vulnerability in people but he felt he was not well-equipped to traverse in such territory, especially with someone he didn’t know. He wanted to be sympathetic, but felt as if that would have been overstepping. He didn’t actually know what had happened to her mother and was making assumptions, and he knew from experience that acting based off assumptions was one of the worst things to do.

There was quietness for a moment and he wondered if he should have said anything to continue the conversation, to steer them from the direction it was heading in. It wasn’t until he heard the muffled call from inside her apartment that the chair she sat in creaked, marking the end of their talk.  
  
“Yeah?” She called back. “I’m here. Are you okay?”

There was some shuffling and the sound of the guitar being picked up, then her voice once again. “I’m gonna go to bed now. Um, thanks for the tattoo shop rec.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he said, standing up himself. “Anytime.”

He meant it like she could ask him about anything anytime (past two in the morning). He hoped she understood that.

“Thanks,” she said again. “Good night.” 

“G’night.” 

He listened to the door open and close before pulling another cigarette from the carton. He’d have one more before he finally went to take a shower.

Shikamaru considered the conversation they had: he spoke to someone he didn’t even know with the same ease when speaking to Chouji or Naruto. He was not the type of person to actively avoid making friends and conversation, but he was also not the type to go out of his way to befriend everyone he met (Tayuya and Kiba being key examples). He didn’t even know what 710 looked like or _her name_ for fuck’s sake but there was that something in her voice, singing _and_ speaking, that drew him in to continue a conversation he would have otherwise shut down because it was weird talking to nothing.

Except, she really _wasn’t_ nothing, since she was an actual person with feelings and a life (and wit, it seemed). Maybe he’d see her some time, going into the building. He closed his eyes and pictured the two things he learned that night: the golden sun on the back of her neck and the cartilage piercing. He shivered as a cool breeze cut through him, a sign that maybe he should _stop_ doing that.

It was a little weird to try and imagine her but he couldn’t deny being a bit curious, especially with a voice like hers. What sort of person did she look like if her voice sounded like that? He wondered if she did the same, if she tried to imagine what he looked like.

As he took a drag, he decided her eyes would be honest and her smile would be gentle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys picked up on the subtle parallels between the Bothersome Blonde and 710 :)
> 
> see you guys soon!


	4. avalanche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowowow sorry again for such a slow update! i've really got no excuse, but this time of year is very busy for me with work and getting ready to move back to school.
> 
> so, i've thrown in some mystery to the plot, both with the main story and background stories! i don't know if anyone has noticed, but _coffee shop soundtrack_ is going to be part of the coffee grounds series that will focus on other pairings/characters whose stories came developing css lol. keep an eye out for those (or not lol)! all the stories within coffee grounds will be alluded too in this story and i'm super excited to work on them in the future, if anyone is interested at all. 
> 
> ino finally makes her debut in this chapter! i gave her a very similar relationship as seen in _c plus_ , which mostly just includes a lot of picking on each other lol. hope she isn't horribly out of character (or any of them for that matter)!
> 
> also, i'm sorry for all the errors in the last chapter. i don't have a beta and usually just proofread my own work, but i guess i got sloppy last time. i made sure to do a better job with this one! 
> 
> lastly, it seems the chapters are getting longer and longer lol. this is the longest to date (at a little over 6k) but they'll usually be 4k-5k. hopefully it isn't too boring! 
> 
> thanks for being patient with me!
> 
> -enjoy

**“avalanche” – walk the moon**  
.  
_“one glance and the avalanche drops,_  
_one look and my heartbeat stops”_  
.

“Mirai,” he said, exasperated. “Can you please go to bed now.”

It was a demand and not a question, leaving no room for argument, as he glanced at the clock that told him it was nine fifty-two. Extremely past her bedtime.

His guest of honor looked at him briefly before continuing bouncing on his bed. “I’m not tired.” 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re not tired,” he tried. “It’s past your bedtime.”

 _And your mom’s gonna kick my ass if she finds out you stayed up this late_ , he thought to himself feebly. 

Asuma and Kurenai had to deliver a truck-full of beans to a city three hours over and decided to spend the night instead of coming back obscenely early in the morning. It was a golden opportunity for Mirai to put her two cents in about staying at his apartment so that she could see Eggplant. Shikamaru did not mind the little Sarutobi staying over given that she often did whenever her parents had to be gone and knew they could get free babysitting out of him, but it did not change the fact that bedtime was his least favorite part.

Mirai operated under the assumption that if her parents were not present but he was, he would allow her to do whatever she wanted. It was true to an extent (see: mini donuts) but it did not happen as often as Mirai expected because he was still afraid of Kurenai’s wrath. He knew it was a problem he made for himself and he really only had himself to blame for actively indulging Mirai, but he tried to avoid thinking about that. It was not as important as the task at hand (evading taking responsibility for his problems was also another problem he made for himself but that would be dealt with later too).

“Mirai,” he said again, a little more firmly this time. “Will you at least stop jumping on the bed?”

He thought of 710 beneath him, listening to the merciless squeaking of his bed and the thunderous pounding of Mirai’s footfalls. He felt a sudden need to apologize.

“Can we eat pancakes?” She asked him suddenly, landing in the middle of his bed on her back. All of the jumping tossed her hair this way and that, and he was already fearing the knots he’d have to wrestle with the coming morning.

“We can get pancakes tomorrow,” he said hoping to compromise. 

“But I want pancakes _now_ ,” Mirai insisted.

He had to refrain from swearing loudly, instead opting to press his fingertips to his temple. She was always a lot to handle before bedtime.

“Mirai,” he began carefully. “I made you soup earlier because that’s what you wanted to eat. If you’re hungry, we can eat soup again.”

She frowned. “But _pancakes._ ”

“Are you implying my soup wasn’t _good_?”

“No,” she said earnestly. “But, I want pancakes.” 

“Pancakes are breakfast foods,” he explained. “Therefore, we will eat pancakes tomorrow _morning_. Got it?”

He sounded like his mother with the way he said that and it sent a chill down his spine; using that tone of voice was a grim reminder that he was _in fact_ Nara Yoshino’s son. He was never sure if that was a good or bad thing (though, the answer was obvious, he still liked to question it to annoy his mother). 

The Nara-Sarutobi Accord came into effect when Mirai settled to eat a peeled apple, but _only_ if he peeled the skin the same way her mother did—into one long rope for her to throw over her shoulder in the form of a wish. There could be no trace of the pink skin despite the fact that she admired the way the yellow swirled into it, mimicking the summer sky. He nearly nicked the skin off his thumb three times, but managed to peel the skin in one piece. Mirai was ecstatic and openly announcing her wish (“to get pancakes!”), she tossed the apple peel over her right shoulder.

The two of them had retreated to the old couch from his college days, munching loudly on the apples and totally engrossed in whatever children’s movie they happened across on TV. She grew awfully quiet after half an hour, contrasting her previously constant commentary on the protagonist’s choices. When he glanced over at her, he saw that her eyelids were heavy with sleep as she struggled to stay awake.

He nudged her with his elbow. “Hey, peanut, time for bed.” 

This time, she made no protests and allowed him to guide her to the bathroom. He squeezed toothpaste onto her spare toothbrush he kept for her in his bathroom and handed it to her before doing so for his own toothbrush. 

“Make sure to get the back,” he instructed. “You don’t want another cavity.”

“Uh huh,” she mumbled. After they had spat into the sink at the same time, he wiped her face down with a washcloth then ushered her out the door.

Mirai’s spare pajamas were already laid out on his bed, though very wrinkly from her previous jumping. She dressed herself quickly then crawled beneath the comforter.

Shikamaru patted her on the head. “Good night, peanut.”

“G’nigh,” she managed.  

He shuffled out into the living room and laid himself down onto his couch; it was also past his own self-imposed bedtime. After spending the past couple of weeks sleeping irregularly like that, he found himself getting tired just past nine and wide awake at two in the morning.

Shikamaru rolled over onto his side and tucked an arm beneath his head, much too lazy and drowsy to get a proper pillow. He thought about the past week he had spent actively speaking with 710 since their initial full-blown conversation about tattoos and lyrics. Their talks never lasted longer than half an hour after she played a song or two, until a shout from inside the apartment would draw 710 to her feet in an instant and bid him a rushed _good night_. The conversations weren’t ever focused on anything deep or piercing – just as he’d preferred – but instead of random bits thrown in here and there. 

They exchanged favorite ice cream flavors and voiced a mutual dislike of the rush hour traffic that took place at exactly 3:36 every day along 10th and Main. He knew her shoe size (an extremely random point that he couldn’t really remember _how_ came up due to lack of sleep); that she took voice lessons for a year and a half before taking her learning into her own hands; that she obsessively filed her nails so she could pluck better (with her fingertips instead of her nails like she often did out of habit).

The shadow image of the faceless girl with a golden sun on her neck and single cartilage piercing slowly became a faceless girl with all that and mint chip ice cream smudged where her mouth (the gentle smile he imagined) should be and her seven and a half sized-feet propped up onto a table and her impossibly short nails. 

It was a ridiculous image in all honesty, and even a bit horrifying with the faceless bit, but he could admit it was a little fun to trying to piece together a person with the mixed-matched facts. He figured his own image in her mind (if she was even trying to scrounge together one) wasn’t any better than the one he made of her. 

All she would have seen in the darkness was the antlers on the back of his neck, matching her golden sun in placement, and the studs in his ears. She’d imagine cable-knit sweaters with frayed sleeves from a college-old collection, and a lone figure sitting in a hammock surrounded by cups because said figure was too lazy to ever clean up after himself until the threat of tripping over the edge became too great.

He managed a tired laugh.

 _What a strange situation to be in._  

He couldn’t remember when he started setting an alarm for two a.m. on the dot. He didn’t have a _horrible_ memory, having being able to recall offhand details and memorizing the order of things contributed to his title of _Genius_ (courtesy of his mother of course, albeit sarcastically), but little things like that were easily misplaced in his mind. Alarms, food placed in cupboards, points made in conversation—they all went through his head the same way water went through a strainer.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing by any means, he knew that; it often ended up being more of a surprise than anything else (like a chocolate bar found in the drawer of his bedside table). But, when the time arose that he had mentioned something, whether aloud or in the comfort of his own head, he always had a hard time remembering at what instance or to who. It’d come back to him eventually, just not when he needed it too. He attributed that knot in the linear functioning of his brain to his horrendous sleep schedule.

He shook the thought off and placed his feet onto the ground, pushing himself up from the couch. He shuffled quietly towards his bedroom, the door of which was cracked open slightly. When he peered in, he found that Mirai had cocooned herself beneath the blankets with only her hair to be seen. He counted her breaths once, twice, three times before returning the door to its previous position.

Shikamaru grabbed an apple from the counter and his phone from his pocket to set an alarm as a reminder for Mirai’s pancakes in coming hours. 

Upon stepping foot onto his balcony, he could hear that soothing guitar tune he had grown accustomed too. He took a big bite out of the apple, relishing the crunching noise it made and wiggled into his hammock. It was a song from the radio, he noticed; one of those popular ones that were overplayed so often they were painfully annoying and prompted a desperate need to change the station.

But not there. Not then, when 710 played it. With the barebones melody strung along by the guitar and her voice molding around each word and syllable, there was nothing annoying about the song then. He could listen to that annoying song from the radio one hundred times over if it was 710’s voice that brought it to life, and then one hundred times more after that. 

He couldn’t— _wouldn’t_ tell her that though. Because that was weird and it made his skin crawl to even think about saying something like that out loud. It was one thing to clap and just say _you’re good_ but to outwardly tell her _that?!_ How could he say something like that to a stranger?

Except. She wasn’t a stranger. Not anymore. Or was she still? Was somebody still considered a stranger if you didn’t know their name or their face, but their favorite flavor of ice cream? Their shoe size?

They couldn’t be _friends_ , could they? Is that what somebody called another person that remained faceless despite having shared conversations in the dark for two some weeks? He thought about people who made friends on the internet, or through social media, or whatever. That had to be the same as whatever this was—or maybe not? He reminded himself that she was faceless _and_ nameless, so that was a step below an internet friendship because at least _those_ people knew each other’s names. 

He didn’t even realize he had groaned out loud at the complicated thoughts that tried disentangling themselves in his head until 710 asked, “Was it that bad?”

Shikamaru nearly choked on the chunk of apple he tried swallowing. “No, I was—” 

She laughed before he could even say anything else. “I’m just giving you shit. I actually hate that song.” 

“What,” he deadpanned. “Why were you playing it then?”

“It was stuck in my head,” she confessed. “I like to think of playing it as some kind of mind purge. To get that shit out of my head, you know? It’s overplayed.”

“Yeah,” he said, thinking of the thoughts he had earlier. _Not when you sing it though, not even a bit._ “Yeah. I think so too.”

“Melodies are nice though,” she continued, plucking a stray note. “It’s catchy but annoying.”

“It is,” he agreed between bites.

“What are you eating tonight?” She asked him as he heard her set the guitar down. 710 had caught onto his habitual late night snacking sometime earlier in the week, and began jokingly asking him what he was eating then. At some point though, it stopped being a joke and was asked out of curiosity.

“An apple,” he responded as he set the core down beside his feet. He was going to mention being too lazy to heat up the soup he made earlier in the night when he remembered Mirai’s little feet slapping against the thin floor. “Ah, shit.” 

“What?”

“Just wanted to say sorry about earlier; for all the noise.”

710 laughed. “Oh, that. Were you moving furniture or what?”

“Babysitting,” he answered. “So, objectively a lot noisier.”

“Ah, okay. I didn’t know you had a kid.”

He made a strangled noise of surprise. “Oh no, god. No. She’s not my kid.”

“I’m just kidding,” 710 laughed again. “Is she a cousin or something?” 

“You could say that. I think of her as more of a sister though.” 

“Is she small? I mean, if you’re babysitting her?” 

“She’s six,” he told her, then promptly added, “and a half.” 

Mirai made it very clear that she was not just six but _six and a half_. She was constantly reminding everybody of the fact whenever her age was up for discussion. Being seven was a very exciting thing for Mirai, as she often told everybody, because it meant she was a year closer to being twenty-five like him.

He had to explain to her, on multiple occasions, that there was nothing fun about being twenty-five but she would never have it.

“That’s cute,” 710 said. “No wonder why she was running around. She’s still got so much energy.”

“Yeah, she’s got way too much of it.”

There was a moment of silence as he stood from his hammock, the metal hooks that allowed it to sway in the wind creaked gently against the movement. He pressed his belly against the railing and fumbled with the pack of cigarettes before pulling one out to hold it between his lips.

_If she stood this way too, and looked up, I’d know what she looked like._

It was a thought he had often the past couple of nights; a tempting prospect that would shine light onto the shadow figure sitting idly in the back of his head. It was tempting, but not _enough_ to really steer him off course of piecing together who she was.

As he had thought about earlier (albeit through the haze of drowsiness), he knew the bits and pieces of her that were _her._ How often was he completely influenced by a person’s appearance and letting that dictate his judgement of them? How often was he given an opportunity to _know_ a person before seeing them?

It was not often he could judge the sincerity of a person in their voice alone, and bask in the light of their singing. It was not often he could remain faceless himself, talking to the void and having the void talk back.

“Is it snowing or is that dandruff I see?” 710 said jokingly for him to realize he had been flicking ash over the railing instead of into his tray.

“How about neither?” He drawled. “That’s three jokes in the past ten minutes. You sure you’re a musician and not an aspiring comedian?”

She grew quiet again and he wondered if she had retreated back inside. No, he would’ve known—the doors were loud and there had yet to be a night where she hadn’t told him good night. It wasn’t uncommon for her to make jokes at him, they both knew that, but this time was different. She would have responded with something right away. He didn’t think he had overstepped with throwing a joke back at her but maybe he did? 

“Hey—” he began softly, ready to backpedal and apologize.

“I had kind of a shitty day today,” she said quietly, her voice much more serious than just a moment ago. “It’s something I do with my brothers; I joke too much to get away from the fact that something’s wrong but then I just try too hard. I didn’t realize you might have noticed.” 

He cupped his hand over his mouth with the cigarette between his fore- and middle-fingers, taking a long drag to combat the sense of unease he could feel grow in the pit of his belly.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to be sympathetic or even encouraging, but that was the repercussion of not knowing 710 on a personal level. He was fortunate that they never spoke of anything deep or piercing because he felt like he didn’t have the right to know of such things. He wasn’t very good at being comforting, either.

“Hey,” he said again, feeling for the right thing to say. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Sorry?” She echoed. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not like you knew I was in a mood. _I_ should be sorry.”

He scoffed and wrinkled his nose. “What for? If that’s how you deal with things, that’s how you deal with things. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“Okay, but that’s what I’m trying to say to _you._ You’ve got nothing to be sorry for too.”

“But I _want_ to be sorry,” he almost insisted.

“For what? I told you there’s nothing to be sorry for,” she argued. 

“Just let me apologize.” 

“No,” she said. “Let me apologize for acting weird.” 

“You weren’t acting weird.”

“And _you_ don’t have to apologize.”

“Fine,” he acquiesced. 

“Great.” 

There was a pause between them before they both blurted _I’m sorry_ at the same time. It was another pause before they were both laughing. It was the quiet-under-your breath kind of laughing, but he figured that was as good as it could get for comforting somebody who had a bad day.

“Are you okay though?” He asked quietly when their laughter died down. It wasn’t his business to know what went on in her life, he knew that, but he would sleep a little better if he knew that she was at least okay. He felt like that was at least the right thing to ask.

“I’m… okay, yeah. I mean, even if I’m not, I will be.”

“I guess,” he said, lighting another cigarette. “I hope whatever’s happening clears up for you soon.”

“Thanks,” she said. “It’s just—well. Some days are just better than others when it comes down to it.” 

She was beating around the bush; he knew by the way she spoke slowly. She was choosing her words prudently and there were more pauses than necessary in her sentences.

He swallowed, then very carefully said, “Hey, I hope it’s not coming across as me trying to pry. You don’t have to say anything to me; I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“No, no,” she blurted. “I appreciate that, I do, but… do you mind?”

“Do _I_ mind?” He asked. “More like do _you_ mind? I’m all ears if you need someone to listen but—” 

“But I’m a stranger.”

“Yeah.” He flicked the ash into his tray. “I mean—I don’t mind. But it’s a matter of whether or not you’re okay with telling someone like me what’s… happening.” 

“Isn’t that the beauty of anonymity?” She asked. “To be able to say whatever you want without having to worry about what someone thinks of you because they don’t have _anything_ to think beside what you're saying right then and there?” 

Her voice was hushed again almost as if she was talking to herself rather than to him. He wasn’t sure what to say to that, unable to determine the severity of the situation based on conversation and tone alone. Obviously it wasn’t a _good_ one but he didn’t know if anything else needed to be said. If there was even anything that _could_ be said.  

He had opened his mouth, prepared to say something when she finally said, “Maybe another night.” 

“Okay.” 

 _Another night._  

Did that mean she foresaw their exchange going on for a lot longer, the same way he had hoped (in the back of his head)? Did she expect that he would always be out there to listen to her play every night since that initial one, the same way he expected she would be out there? Maybe she had understood what he meant when he said that she could ask him for advice; for those conversations in the dark to expand from what they began as (to grow from small talks of ice cream flavors and shoe sizes to bigger things). 

He didn’t want to know anything deep or piercing about her, not because he didn’t care but because he _did._ He was curious but not stupid enough to ever pry into even the lives of his closest friends without gaining permission first. But when she said _maybe another night_ , alluding to some sort of anonymously built trust she found in him? Then he could know – could _want_ to know – without feeling guilty for treading into some foreign space he wasn’t allowed into. He wanted to know her better—the girl with the golden sun who could sing windstorms and whirlwinds into submission, and played music like no other.

Maybe he was a little crazy for getting so invested in the well-being of some stranger that he’d only ever listen to in the dead of night, but he couldn’t shake the feeling her voice left him with. That feeling only ever grew with the conversations they shared and he knew that there was something enchanting about who she was as a person. The girl he imagined that would have honest eyes and the gentle smile. He could live with being a little crazy if it meant he could talk to her more.

“I’ve never seen it, you know,” 710 said, startling him. He thought she would have gone to bed by now, or be summoned back inside.

“Seen what?” He asked, taking a seat back into his hammock. 

“Snow.”

He recalled her offhand comment earlier. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I mean, I’ve seen pictures obviously. But never in person.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” he said. “I think Konohagakure’s second in snowfall to Yukigakure.” 

“Really?”

“I’m probably making that up, but when it comes down, you’d think so.”

“This is gonna sound stupid but does it get really cold?” 

“Some nights, yeah,” he answered. “But that’s what staying inside is for.” 

“So, you don’t sit in your hammock in the winter?” She asked, the familiar joking lilt returning to her voice. It made him smile.

“Sometimes I do, after a little bit of whiskey. Watching it come down is nice.”

“That _sounds_ nice. Pictures of a city after it snowed always looked so beautiful.”

“Oh, it is,” he agreed. “But only the first snow.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, ‘cause then everyone drives through and it turns to shit.”

“That’s unfortunate,” she said.

“Yeah. But, the first snow is real nice,” he told her. “The sky looks a little red through the blinds and everything is quiet, almost surreal. It’s one of my favorite times of the year. Going to the forest after the first snow is always amazing.”

“Senju Forest?” She asked.

He looked up over the railing of his balcony to his right automatically, spying the army of trees that made up the Senju Forest and National Park. It was a giant stretch of land that had belonged to Senju family for generations; with the use of the trees there, Hashirama had created the Senju Energies that preceded Senha. If he looked close enough, he could barely see the lights in the Senju Mansion that was built on one of the clearings. On the farthest right, near the outskirts of the city and forest, he could just make out Uchiha Manor.

“No,” he said. “The Nara Forest. It’s opposite to Senju Forest.” 

“Oh, the one on the left?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. He looked over past the grassland that separated the two forests. Unlike the Senju Forest that stretched into the horizon, the Nara Forest was much more modest. A river ran through the middle of it for the deer to drink from, and there were several small clearings in the middle he could remember picking flowers from with Chouji and Ino during their childhoods.

“It’s my family’s forest,” he explained. “We come from a longline of deer herders.”

It was the most personal detail of himself he had revealed to her yet. It didn’t say anything about _him_ and it didn’t make him any more distinguishable than another stranger on the street, but there was still something odd about telling her that. It wasn’t bad, not at all, but it was different for him to even have to say that. Anybody in Konohagakure would know that his bloodline was covered in deer fur and that the imaginary little bumps on the top of every Nara’s head were remnants of antlers in a past life.

If anything other than strange, it was a reminder she wasn’t a native. He squinted and rubbed the side of his head—he almost forgot the way she called him a _Konohagakure-native_ some time ago. He couldn’t forget that when talking to her. 

“Oh, like your namesake,” 710 recalled.  

“Yeah, exactly. My parents weren’t very creative.”

She laughed and it was a comforting noise to hear again after the heavy silence that hung between them earlier. He let out a yawn and clapped a hand over his mouth; when he glanced at his phone, it was almost three-twenty.

“I think I’m gonna head in for the night,” he told her, surprised that she hadn’t been forced into her apartment first. He wouldn’t ask. Maybe she would tell him—and maybe it was connected to her shitty day.

“Me too,” she said. He could hear her grab the guitar by the neck and stand, the creaking of her chair an indication of the action. “Oh, wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you another city-related question?”

“You don’t have to ask to ask,” he drawled half-teasingly as he faced the door. He imagined she was rolling her eyes and he suddenly wondered what color they were.

“Any good diners nearby? My brother loves breakfast foods and… I’d like to take him somewhere.”

He tried not to think of the pause she had and whether her shitty day had to do with her brother. Instead, he took a deep breath and thought of the pancakes he had to get for Mirai in just five hours.

“There’s this place called Sunrise Sunset two blocks from here. They’re open pretty late and do breakfast all day; definitely one of my favorite places to eat.”

“That sounds perfect,” she said. 

He nodded, forgetting that she couldn’t see him, and said, “Let me know how you like it.” 

“I will,” 710 responded. “I’ll let you go to bed now.”

He had half a mind to tell her that he forced himself to stay up this late just to listen to her voice but fought against it; maybe another night (as she had said herself). “Have a good night.” 

“You too. Talk to you later?” 

He stopped in his tracks and looked down at his feet wondering if he heard correctly. There had never been a question of talking later, not once the past week. He assumed it was an unspoken expectation between then, a flimsy obligation made on the thin foundation of a week. But this—this made it tangible and made it real and made it an actual, spoken agreement to talk after sharing music in the dead of night.

He didn’t even notice the pounding of his heart when he breathed, “Yeah, I’ll talk to you later.”

* * *

 

“Hey,” Shikamaru whispered while nudging Mirai. “Peanut, if you don’t get up right now we’re not getting pancakes.”

Mirai had resisted waking up for the past hour and he had resorted to pulling out the big guns to coax her out of her cocoon. The little Sarutobi finally gave him a reaction by staring at him with eyes as big as the moon.

He pulled her out from beneath the blankets and inspected the damage sleeping had done to her hair. Mirai was still small enough to carry so he accepted her request to be picked up and taken to the bathroom. While she brushed her teeth, he took a moment to lay out the clothes Kurenai packed for her.

When she was all dressed, she stood in front of him so he could brush out her hair and attempt to tie it up into two pigtails. She bounced excitedly about getting the pancakes as he bunched her hairs and wondered to herself about when her parents would be home. The two of them packed her small backpack together and placed it on the table beside Eggplant to grab later when he would have to take her back to her parents.

On their walk to the diner, Mirai recalled her dream of a giant Eggplant and told him that she wanted extra strawberries on top of her pancakes. She waved her free hand around to demonstrate parts of her story and it made him smile. There were times Mirai was hard to handle, but it would never overpower the sense of familiarity and comfort her presence gave him.

As they approached the diner, his phone buzzed in his back pocket. 

 **From: Yamanaka Ino  
** Hey deerwad look across the street (9:04AM)

Upon looking up, he saw a familiar blonde ponytail swinging in the opposite direction of the arm Ino was waving at them.

“Ino!” Mirai exclaimed with bright eyes as she ran to hug her.

“Hi sweet pea,” Ino greeted with a kiss to her cheek. “What’s up?”

“’Bout to get breakfast,” Shikamaru said with a thumb over his shoulder. “Want to join?”

“Uh, duh,” Ino said as matter-of-fact. “As if I could skip breakfast with my favorite little nugget.”

Mirai opted to sit beside Ino, the two of them facing the front door while he sat facing them and the back of the restaurant. They made small talk, catching up about random gossip in the few moments before their server came to take their orders.

“So,” Ino began with her straw between her fingers. “How’s mom and dad?”

“Good,” he answered. “Ma got a promotion at work and dad’s still the same as he’s ever been. You?”

“Dad’s getting knee surgery,” Ino lamented. “But nothing too horrible. He’ll be out for two weeks. My mom’s really excited about the summer flower arrangements, so I guess everything’s the same on my end too.”

He sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Surgery? That sounds tough. Good for your mom though.”

“Yeah,” Ino rolled her eyes. “He’s been a pain about his knee for the past year and it took both me and my mom to nag him into going to the doctor.”

“You didn’t offer to operate for him?” Shikamaru joked as he unraveled Mirai’s silverware for her.

Ino gave him a humorless laugh. “Very funny. You and I both damn well know I wouldn’t be able to.”  

“That’s a bad word,” Mirai chirped with a fork in her hand.

“Sorry baby,” Ino said, patting her head gently.

“I mean, you could if you really tried, yeah?”

“I look at dead people, Shikamaru,” Ino deadpanned. “That’s different than patching them up." 

He shrugged. “You did go to medical school, didn’t you?”

His best friend had steered off the traditional course towards becoming doctor to pursue a career as a medical examiner. She often argued that her father, a senior detective on the force, didn’t have any influence on her decision but Ino was easy to read. Everybody and their mother knew that Ino was her father’s girl to the core, and rumor had it that stoic Inoichi had cried upon hearing that his daughter would be so close (disclosed by his own father, a fairly credible source when it came to the Yamanaka patriarch).

Their food came quickly, much to the delight of Mirai, who squealed at the sight of the fluffy cakes before her. It looked like an awful lot of food. 

“You sure you’re gonna finish that?” Shikamaru asked as he popped the yolk of the fried egg with his slice of toast. “’Cause I’m not eating your leftovers again.”

“I’ll eat it,” Mirai promised as she began eating the strawberries off the top. He didn’t believe her but said nothing else on the matter.

“Oh,” Ino said suddenly, wiping the corner of her mouth. “Did you know Naruto is giving Sakura a plus-one?”

He raised his eyebrows. “What?” 

“Yeah,” Ino said in a hushed voice. “I was surprised too.” 

“I didn’t even know she was seeing anyone after… you know,” Shikamaru trailed off.

“Me neither and I’m her _fricken_ best friend.” 

They didn’t talk of Sakura’s past relationship often, even if it was just them without her present. It was a touchy subject that made her _and_ Naruto bitter to think about, so they made an effort not to mention it. Mostly out of respect for the dead.

“Huh,” he chewed. “I’ll be interested to see who it is.”

“Probably that bartender at Hidden Sound,” she responded. “They’re definitely f-ing on the low, ya know?” 

“What’s f-ing?” Mirai asked.

He scowled at Ino. “It’s nothing. Eat your pancakes before they get soggy.”

“You gonna eat your bacon?” Ino asked, already poking at the slice on his plate. He scooted it away from her grasp.

“Yes, I’m saving it for last. You should’ve ordered some on the side if you were going to pick off my plate,” he reprimanded. “Also, isn’t it considered cannibalism to eat bacon?” 

“What’s cannonball-ism?” Mirai asked. 

“It’s where a person eats a person,” Shikamaru answered as Ino glared at him. “Or in this case, when a pig eats a pig.”

“Pigs eating each other?” Mirai was aghast. “Why would they do that?” 

“You ask Ino, peanut.”

She seethed in front of him as he took a big bite out of the crisp slice. “Mirai, you should stop sharing food with Shikamaru. You might get Lyme Disease.”

“Low blow, Yamanaka,” he drawled. “Low blow.”

“What’s Lyme Disease?” Mirai asked, panicked. “And why would I have to stop sharing food with Shikamaru?” 

“Lyme Disease makes you _very_ sick,” Ino explained in a sickeningly sweet tone. “Shikamaru might give it to you.”

“Ino,” he warned but it was too late.

“Does that mean Shikamaru is gonna die?!”

He slapped a hand to his face while Ino laughed in the background, trying her hardest to explain to Mirai that it was all a joke.

When he withdrew his hand, his line of sight fell onto the Bothersome Blonde that sauntered towards him and everything right then came tumbling down. He could physically feel everything slow around him and his heart stop cold in his chest as her eyes moved from one corner of the room to his, blue-green onto brown. 

He couldn’t even care about her Redheaded Companion that trailed behind; all he could focus on was her loose gold hair that fell shoulder-length and framed her face. What were the odds he would see her here and at the market and the grocery store? Didn’t he talk about Sunrise Sunset last night with 710? Or was the seemingly familiar thought because he had intended to bring Mirai here? His brain itched as he tried to sort out the possibilities but it was impossible with her closing the distance between them and their eyes still locked onto each other.

He could right his wrong from the farmer’s market and smile but there was still the possibility that that smile wasn’t intended for him—and would she have even remembered someone like him? The asshole who gave her a hard time when _he_ was the one who fucked up her order? The weird guy who stared at her and didn't even bother smiling back when she did at him? God, what were the fucking odds he’d see her here?

It was small, just a lift at the corner of his mouth, but still recognizable and casual enough that it could be played off as being friendly instead of trying to silently shout the haunting attraction he felt for this beautiful stranger. Her hair was truly beautiful as it caught the morning light, and he was finally able to admire the glow her eyes had with the sunshine coming through them. 

And then she smiled back, just as small as he did, and he wasn’t sure if that meant anything. Could mimicking his cautious smile have been done to convey a similar attraction? Which couldn’t have been possible— that would be horseshit because she was so goddamn beautiful there was absolutely no way someone like _her_ would be attracted to someone like _him_ and didn’t she have a stupid fucking boyfriend? Oh god what was happening to him? 

When did being attracted to a _stranger_ get this desperate and weird?

“Hey,” Ino slapped a hand to his face. “Earth to Shikamaru. Mirai asked you a question.” 

“What?” He snapped out of whatever trance he was in. “Sorry, what?”

“Can you eat the rest of my pancakes?” Mirai asked, all puppy-eyes and soft smile.

“Mirai, what did I tell you?” He tried being stern but reached for her plate anyways. 

“What were you looking at anyways?” Ino asked, pushing her scraps around her plate.

He swallowed hard and shook his head. “Nothing.” 

(What he missed with his back to the door was the Bothersome Blonde looking back over her shoulder at the blonde woman across from him, playfully laughing with a tilted head and fingers pinching his cheek.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know your thoughts! 
> 
> also, for those who don't know, i do have a tumblr (viiisenya) so if anyone wants to come by and talk, please do! i love making friends :) 
> 
> til the next update! <3


	5. lullabies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again guys! I am super sorry that updates are slow and it makes me sad to say that they won’t be getting any faster. I’m in a very busy and transitional period of my life right now and I’m trying to stay on top of my shit, so as you all can understand, my work and school life is coming before writing. But! Please don’t worry; a bad habit of mine when I was younger was starting stories and never finishing them so something I want to correct as I’ve grown older is to finish every story I start. I have every intention on finishing coffee shop soundtrack so you don’t have to worry about me abandoning the story; it just won’t be finished within the timeframe I would like. 
> 
> So, once again, thank you all for being very patient, kind, and encouraging. I don’t want this note to get super long and irrelevant to the story but I am very grateful for this small community. I recently hit my one-year anniversary on ao3 and although it’s not a huge deal, I’m very passionate about my writing so being able to connect with a lot of you and receive the feedback I do means so much more than you could ever imagine. All of this is self-indulgent (as most fanfiction is), but I am very pleased and happy to be able to share these stories with all of you. 
> 
> Again, thank you all and sorry this note got super sappy lol. I just wanted to express my deepest appreciation. I know I am not the best author out there, but recognition and appraisal for what I do is incredibly humbling and uplifting. 
> 
> as always, thank you and enjoy-

**“lullabies” – all time low**  
.  
_“sing me to sleep, I’ll see you in my dreams”_ _  
_.

Staff meetings were always an opportune time for Shikamaru to zone out and contemplate what groceries he needed for the week. After working alongside Asuma at King’s for almost five years, he learned that the contents of the meetings didn’t change much.

It was mostly composed of  _the health department doesn’t like this, so don’t do it anymore_ and a recap of how to address customers properly. He could barely register Asuma’s bored tone and Kurenai’s impatient pen tapping as he stared absently at the stain just behind the hazelnut syrup.

“All right,” Asuma concluded. “Any questions?”

Udon raised his hand as everyone began to stand up.

“Yes, Udon?” 

“Would anyone be willing to take my shift tomorrow?” His voice was nasally and he sniffled as he often did when speaking. Shikamaru was working the Monday shift as well and felt no need to volunteer himself. He also had to meet Ino and Chouji in less than fifteen minutes and god knew that Ino was the personification of hell's wrath when she was met with any sort of tardiness.

“That’s kind of late notice,” Asuma said.

“I know,” Udon said apologetically. “But tomorrow’s my girlfriend’s birthday and I wanted—”

“Wait,” Shikamaru interjected, suddenly forgetting his meeting with his friends. “Back up.  _Girlfriend?_ ”

His face illustrated his immediate surprise and he figured it was too harsh as Udon flinched. It was an unfortunate one, but the thought of Udon having a girlfriend was near unfathomable given who he was as an individual. He toned it down and shook his head. “Sorry, I’m just caught off guard.”

“Ugh,” Konohamaru groaned. “She’s literally  _all_ he ever talks about. Someone please just take the shift.”

“Why don’t you then, asshole?” Moegi snapped. 

“Fuck no, like hell I would!” Konohamaru cried. 

“Hey kids,” Asuma frowned. “Language, please.”

“You are great friends,” Shikamaru drawled. “But, Konohamaru, you should take the shift. It’s not like you’re doing anything over the summer, yeah?”

Konohamaru scowled. “You don’t know that.”

“But I do,” Asuma piped up. “Listen to your manager.”

“You’re the boss,” Shikamaru deadpanned. “Enforce your authority better.”

“Hey! Show a little more respect to your boss!” Asuma jokingly pointed a finger in his face.

“Maybe when you start acting like one, old man.”

“You want to keep your job?”

“Okay,” Kurenai stepped in. “That’s enough. Konohamaru, are you taking the shift or not?”

There was a moment of ruminating silence as the four of them stared him down, the other employees having already left, until he threw his hands up in defeat. “Ugh, fine! I’ll do it.”

“Great,” Kurenai smiled. “See you bright and early.”

“You don’t even work in the mornings,” Konohamaru muttered under his breath scornfully as his aunt began walking away.

“What was that?” She called back with enough force in her voice that made even Shikamaru recoil in fear.

“Nothing! It was nothing, auntie,” Konohamaru said hastily, grabbing his bag and towing his two friends towards the door. “Bye, see you tomorrow!”

“That’s what I thought,” Kurenai said over Asuma’s cackling.

“I’m headed out too,” he called out as he cradled his cup of coffee. The two of them looked over at him and nodded in acknowledgement of his departure.

“We’ll see you for dinner tonight,” Asuma said. 

He grunted as he pulled the door open. “I’d hope so. My mom would be pissed as shit if you guys missed her fiftieth birthday.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Asuma waved him off. “We know. Tell Ino and Chouji to stop being strangers and come by sometime.”  
  
“You’re gonna see them tonight,” Shikamaru drawled, halfway out the door.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt telling those two twice.” 

He chuckled. “That is very true. See you guys later.”

The notorious Konoha humidity hit him like a sheet and racked his bones, though he figured that that was the caffeine that made his insides squirm uncomfortably. It was his fourth cup of coffee, and most likely not his last, but the drug was much needed after sleeping a whole hour the night before.

Sleepless nights were not unheard of for him though the occurrences of them were far and few in between. But, last night had him staying up much later than anticipated even after his brain begged him to sleep and his eyes protested by becoming horribly dry. After getting old (after turning twenty-two and receiving his degree made him old and nobody could convince him otherwise), staying up all night had become increasingly difficult. It was easier to do in school when his mind was a little more limber and could take the mental beatings it was subjected too as a result of frantic last minute studying, and especially so when Naruto lived down the hallway and kept the entire floor up with his yelling.

But, when there was no studying except for the voice that lived just below him, he found that despite the tortuous feat of staying awake all night, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep. 

They talked for a long while the previous night, about nothing as they often did. Except that time, it extended far past the regular times he was used too. They talked well into the night, and laughed deliriously as they watched the sun stretch over the horizon in the early morning haze.

“Favorite smell?” She had asked him as he rubbed his eyes.

“Pine needles,” he told her, laying down into his hammock. “I used to lay in pine needles as a kid. My ma hated it, ‘cause I’d bring them all inside with me. I like how clean they smell.”

Her laugh was caught in a breeze and coaxed a tired smile out of him.

“Mine’s lavender,” she said. He found that oddly fitting. 

“Puts you to sleep?” He asked.

She considered the question, he knew by the stretch of silence he’d learn over the past couple of weeks was associated with her thought process. “Something like that. They remind me of home.”

He had tucked an arm beneath his head in the wobbly hammock, already fearing the aches he’d feel in his back from a lack of support, but felt no need to get up and leave. The comfort he had in the presence of 710 was not new, but it had been staggering that night.

The feeling had been growing over the past month and a half; little bits building onto each other until they washed over him like a wave. And as he often thought of it, he found it strange to find such comfort in somebody he still hadn’t seen in person. There were more things about her that he had learned to help build a better picture, but he was not an artist and had little confidence in his ability to replicate an image based on facts and no reference. He had been expecting to run into her at that point but hadn’t yet; or, at least, not that he had been aware of.

He found it difficult to be able to determine who she was based on voice alone, and it didn’t help that he had conjured up his own image of her. He knew that his own image would probably not match what she actually looked like in person, and that made his endeavor twice as hard. He hadn’t been _actively_ seeking her out, but he would have been a liar if he said he hadn't strained his ears for her voice.

The attempts had proven fruitless and he chalked it up to bad luck. They were both two people that led different lives, and despite how much he knew about her, he still didn’t know _anything._ He didn’t know what she did during the day, or where she had come from before settling in Konohagakure (though, he had his suspicions there), or if she had any specific plans for her future.

All of which were personal things, he knew that, but even despite not knowing those things, he found it odd he hadn’t run into her yet. He was out of the apartment most of the time, but were their lives so different that they would never be entering the building at the same time? Or leaving for that matter?

He supposed he should be more patient.

The other thought had also occurred to him that he _could_ request a meeting but since 710 hadn’t asked yet, he assumed it was because she didn’t want to. He couldn’t read her voice well enough to know what her thoughts were on the two of them meeting face to face, but as much as he wanted to know what she looked like (and confirm the mental image he made), he also _didn’t_. It was contradictory and so unlike him to want and not to want at the same time, but he had grown so accustomed to listening to her voice he grew a little wary of wanting not to tarnish that.

Seeing her in person meant that they would have to have a friendship (if that was what their arrangement could be called) at regular times like regular people, and he was selfish in wanting to keep it the way it was currently. He wanted to be her sole audience and share little, harmless facts in the blackness of night.

He also had to be considerate of what she wanted, if she even wanted anything besides a nighttime companion to give her the recognition and praise she deserved. That of which, so far, she had given him no indication, so he kept his mouth shut. 

“Can I play you a new song?” She had asked him suddenly amidst his chronic overthinking.

“Yes,” he said automatically because how could he ever say no to a question like that? It was the third song she sung for him that night, one that he wouldn’t hear all the way through. 

He stood no chance against her and it was a forfeited fight, as she strummed the first few chords and hummed out a tune. Her voice lulled him to sleep in time with the swaying of his hammock, and he could remember seeing the silhouette of the sunrise behind his eyes.

And in that hour of sleep he got, he dreamt of her; a faceless figure that smiled warmly at him. 

He dreamt that he could smell lavender in her hair.

As he continued down the street to where he would be meeting Ino and Chouji, the guilt of his dream clung to his skin the same way the humidity did.

There wasn’t really anything to feel guilty about since dreaming about people was normal. But, that dream was different. It made him feel weird and he didn’t know why it did. He figured it was because she was the last thing he thought of that had him dreaming of her, but what was there to dream of except for a voice? And a golden sun?

And it was the matter of what sort of _freak_ he was to dream of _smelling_ someone’s hair. That unnerved him. He didn’t do things like that—didn’t even _think_ of doing things like that, and yet, there was he was, imagining what 710’s hair would smell like (even though he had come to the conclusion that it was lavender).

He’d admit he was a little too invested in 710. Just a little. He was a creature of habit and breaking habits was too hard for someone like him that swore by routine (it was namely why he hadn’t quit smoking despite his mother’s constant scolding). Maybe making a habit of listening to and conversing with 710 (a fact he could fully admit now that it had went on for longer than twenty-one days) had slowly seeped into his subconscious, so much so that it influenced what he dreamt of. 

He frowned in response to the ache that was beginning to form at the back of his eyes. Thinking that hard on little to no sleep gave him a headache and he should have known better than to do such a thing in the first place.

“Wow,” a voice he knew all too well scoffed. “You look like _shit._ ”

“And you’re as nice as ever, Ino,” Shikamaru deadpanned. 

She bowed with a grin. “Only the best for you, my friend. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he refrained from snapping. Ino was notorious for taking the smallest, irrelevant things the wrong way, and he could do without getting on her bad side. “Just tired.”

“So nothing new,” Ino supplied. 

He forced a nod, finding that any sharp and sudden movement of his head made the pounding worse. “Nothing new.” 

“Well,” she began, adjusting the huge and intricate bouquet at the bend of her arm. “Chouji’s late.” 

“That’s nothing new either,” he muttered as he took a sip of his coffee. The crease in Ino’s brow suggested her annoyance at the third of their trifecta’s lateness, but that was a Chouji problem. 

“The flowers look nice,” he told her after a moment of silence. They were all his mother’s favorites—none that he knew by name but only by image. Ino was better at cataloguing his mother’s favorite flowers, so it had always been her job to put together the bouquet.

“Thanks,” she chirped, bouncing the bundle with pride. “My mom and I pulled some flowers from our personal greenhouse for this one."

“She’s gonna love that,” he commented. Surprising his mother at work with a bouquet for her birthday was a longstanding tradition that really had no business being called a _surprise_ given that she was always expecting it, but it was something the three of them did every year for as long as he could remember. It was a bouquet of flowers for his mother, an extravagant brunch for Ino’s, a pair of tickets to the latest play for Chouji’s. It was the little things to show appreciation and love in the ways their mothers loved best.

“Try this coffee I bought,” Ino instructed him, already shoving the cup into his face without any answer. It was from a newer shop; he could tell by the logo printed on the cup.

“You’re cheating on me and Asuma,” he drawled half-jokingly.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not my fault I live too far away.”

He narrowed his eyes and grimaced. “Actually, yes, it is.”

“Whatever,” she dismissed him, pointing the straw of the cup at his mouth. “Just try this.”

He groaned and did as he told, taking a small sip from the lipstick stained straw. It was a weak blend, nothing that could compare to the kinds King’s used and he could tell that the beans were poorly roasted. He frowned as he shook his head, backing away from Ino. 

“That’s garbage,” he told her, taking a sip of his own coffee to get the taste out of his mouth. “That tastes like garbage.”

“Spoken like a true coffee snob,” Ino said with a roll of her eyes. “But, you’re right. It’s gross.” 

“Why’d you get it then?”

“I wanted to try something new,” she shrugged. She nodded at his cup. “What are you drinking?”

“It’s just black,” he answered but instinctively held the cup out for her.

Being friends with Ino and Chouji proved to be the closest thing to siblings he could ever have before Mirai wiggled her way into his life. With Chouji’s endless appetite and need to try everything in conjunction with Ino’s curiosity, it was automatic how his body reacted with sharing food and drinks. Another one of those muscle memory things. He often mused that that was the result of spending every waking second together as children and him acting as the de facto team leader.

In the moment it took for Ino to take a sip of his coffee and his body to react to the oncoming traffic of the sidewalk, his eyes locked onto that damning mass of blonde hair he tried his hardest not to let consume every passing thought he had. 

It seemed like at every instance he ran into her, she became more beautiful and less attainable. Not that he ever thought he could get with someone like her, single or not. Her Redheaded Companion strode beside her, stoic and cold despite his fiery hair, listening impassively as she gestured with her hands whatever she was describing to him. 

Her mouth would twist up into a pretty little pout and he felt his throat close up, the sight alone making it hard to think. He ran the odds in his head which really just happened to be an endless cycle of _what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck_ and a surge of déjà vu frying his already frazzled brain. The whole scene was becoming nauseously repetitious and he had half a mind to scream in frustration. How was it that it ended up this way? So close but so far away? He hated life sometimes and the cruel, little games it played. He felt like throwing up, but again, that might have just been the coffee. 

She shook the stray hairs out of her face and looked straight ahead, right at him and her eyes widened ever so slightly. Or so he thought; it was hard to be sure when he was so tired and she was standing in front of the sun (which, he had to admit, was quite fitting since she was so bright and beautiful).

But, he smiled on impulse, because he learned his lesson the first time and what better thing to do in front of a beautiful woman than try to look his best? Miraculously and against all odds, she smiled back. Wide and inviting, one that reached her eyes (her eyes that reminded him of the sea that glistened beneath the sunlight). Twice was not a coincidence, right? That must have meant she remembered him from the diner and maybe even the market?

He wasn’t plain looking, at least he didn’t think so (and his _mother_ surely insisted he wasn’t). A fair share of Ino’s friends had fawned over him during high school and he was the recipient of many a drunk love confession back in undergrad, so that had to mean he wasn’t _super ugly._ Not that that was the only thing that would tip the scale in having someone fall for him, but when it came to _her_ and her astounding beauty, he felt as if the first thing to bridge the gap between them would have to be being outrageously attractive.

But, then he had to remember her Redheaded Companion and remind himself that she was just being nice. (Which – he could resign to being _creepy and mildly jealous_ given how shaken up he was about this – didn’t make sense because how could a person without _eyebrows_ get with someone like _her?!_ )

She came closer and closer and closer, forcing the oxygen out of his lungs and away from his brain to the point that he forgot about Ino who stood just a foot away from him with a bouquet of flowers, connected to him by the coffee that dangled precariously from his slacked fingers. He had to break off the eye contact they held given that he wasn’t an owl who could twist his neck in order to keep said eye contact, and he was sure that Ino was judging him straight to hell for being weird anyways. 

He took the opportunity to admire her equally enchanting back—namely, the curve of her ass in that skirt (which, he knew very well he _shouldn’t_ have been doing and not to make any excuses, but how could he not? He was garbage and he knew it, and he might as well embrace it. As well as the slap upside the head he knew Ino would deliver him in t-minus thirty seconds).

But, there was a flash of gold that caught his eye at the back of her neck—whether it was a necklace or the baby hairs unmanaged by her four pigtails glimmering in the sunlight, he didn’t know. A strange sense of familiarity filled him and he reached to touch the back of his own neck where the antlers of his family were forever embedded in his skin.

Maybe he was seeing things; a likely conclusion given how tired he was. His eyes played tricks on him often and he didn’t do very well seeing in the distance nor under the brightness of the morning sun. Putting together information from two separate entities also hurt his head on top of the thinking he did earlier, but he tried his hardest to remember the feeling of seeing (or imagining) that instance of gold, the tightness of his chest—

“Holy shit!”

He was startled back into reality and almost ruined Ino’s white shirt with his black coffee.

“Chouji,” Shikamaru breathed, fully aware of his surroundings again with a hand over his thumping heart. “You just scared the shit out of me.” 

“I’m sorry,” his other best friend said, clapping a hand to both of their shoulders. “But did you _see_ that dude with no eyebrows? Talk about a fashion statement!”

Ino rolled her eyes, amused but not enough so to let him off the hook for being late. “You’re _late_.” 

“I know,” Chouji said apologetically. “I had to drop something off for my dad.”

“A little heads up would’ve been nice,” she muttered in response. “And _you_. I was trying to say something to you but you were off in la la land again staring at people.” 

Ino pointed an accusatory finger in his face and he took a step back to protect his nose from her dangerously sharp nails. He elected not to address his staring, knowing very well that Ino would pry deep into his psyche until she had her fill of psychoanalyzing _nothing_ and that was something he very much did not want. 

(He also recognized that the Bothersome Blonde was _not_ nothing, as he had concluded time and time again, but further analysis on that would be saved for a different day he was better rested.)

“Isn’t it bad practice to wear your nails that long while working with dead people?” He said, ungracefully steering the conversation away from him and his faults to the minor ones of Ino.

“Don’t change the subject, Nara,” she said with narrowed eyes.

“It’s not really changing the subject,” he said with a lazy roll of his shoulder that they knew was a shrug. “I thought we were discussing things wrong with us at the present moment; Chouji’s lateness, my absentmindedness, your long nails.”

“Oh, so now you’re going to be a smartass?” She said with a certain bite he had learned from years of experience was not true anger but passing annoyance. Maybe she was hungry. “And, just so you know, _genius_ , I’m not handling bodies right now.”

“Can you guys stop fighting?” Chouji cried jokingly. “You’re tearing this family apart.”

That lifted the tension and elicited a laugh out of all three of them, and then a punch to the gut from Ino before he began steering them away towards his mother’s office.

The company of his friends kept his tired mind occupied; the small bits were perfect for his short attention span at the moment though it still wasn't enough to keep his mind from drifting to the Bothersome Blonde.

But, what else was new?

* * *

His night started at just past eleven that night. After visiting his mother at work for her annual birthday surprise, and dinner with the Sarutobi’s, Yamanaka’s, and Akimichi’s, he had rewarded himself with a long nap. Which, in truth was a regular night’s sleep, but Shikamaru had long found out he was not a regular person that could build regular habits. 

The aching in his belly was becoming a nuisance and he tried to think of what to make himself while also rummaging through his too low cupboards. It seemed that he had been long overdue for head trauma as he underestimated the space he gave himself to retract from the cupboards and stand, resulting in banging of the back of his head against the wood. In the string of curses that followed, he managed to dropped the two pans he held in his each of his hands and the clattering it made sounded like a bomb.

“Fuck,” he muttered, a hand rubbing the tender spot at the nape of his neck. Out of spite, he decided not to eat anything from a pan and instead chose to eat instant oatmeal.

The loudness of his action stirred a feeling of guilt (though, he suspected it might have also been hunger—it was hard to tell sometimes) as he remembered 710’s brother whose sleep should not have been disturbed.

On impulse, he retreated to his balcony hours earlier than was scheduled with his oatmeal and a new pack of cigarettes.

To his surprise, 710 was out there as well.

“Hey,” he said loudly over the absent strumming of her guitar. “Sorry about the noise. Hope I didn’t wake your brother.” 

She laughed and the sound alone quelled the guilt that burned in his belly. “Oh, don’t worry about it. My brother’s been gone since yesterday.”

“What?” He shoveled a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. 

“Yeah, it’s actually kind of a funny story,” she told him. She had set her guitar down and relaxed into her chair, the soft sounds of metal groaning an indication of the action. “He was supposed to just stay that first weekend to help me move in but he met a guy.”

“Oh?” He said, surprised and invested in the story for the main reason that talks of her brother were rare.

He didn’t ask about him, feeling as if that was a touchy subject. He had learned over time that there was no one else that lived with her except for her brother, the youngest of the three, as she had referred to him as _the baby_. He inferred that her summons back into her apartment were because of him. He knew that her brother had trouble sleeping and enjoyed breakfast foods, but other than those bits, there was nothing else ever said of him.

He could recall her slight hesitance in asking of a diner to take her brother too, and his reluctance to assume that the bad day she had and her need to appease her brother went hand in hand.

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “He was crushing hard I think, because he insisted on staying longer. Which, I didn’t mind, because he’s never really… had the best luck—I mean, it’s been hard for him to meet people at home, I guess.”

Shikamaru set his bowl down onto the ground and furrowed his brow. “That sounds nice. Did it work out or is he gone because it… didn’t?”

He was afraid of a silence that would spell out discomfort in treading too close to murky waters but 710 was quick to answer. “No, no. It’s actually good, I think. I think they really hit it off even if this guy’s kind of questionable.” 

“That doesn’t sound too good,” he mused, relieved that he wasn’t prying too deep. “What does questionable mean in this context?”

“It’s nothing horrible,” she laughed. “He seems nice from the three seconds I got to talk to him. Just— _eyebrows._ ”

He scoffed as he reached for a cigarette. “Please elaborate.”

“There’s too much of it,” she said. “Like, literal bricks on this guy’s face.”

“I think you’re making that up,” he said, both amused and calmed by the easiness of her tone.

She made a noise of offense but he could tell it was in good humor. “You’ll see one day, and then you’ll believe me.”

“This is a pretty big city,” he drawled. “Chances of running into even someone as recognizable as that are slim to none.” 

“He’s a personal trainer,” she told him, as if physical exercise meant anything to him. “At the gym just a block from here. I’m sure you’d pass him eventually.”

“Bold of you to assume I work out.” 

She gasped dramatically and squeezed a chuckle out of him. “Working out is part of a healthy lifestyle,” she lectured.

“I’m the least healthy person to walk this earth,” he said, flicking the ash of his cigarette into the tray held with his other hand. “I think the healthiest thing about me is my hair.” 

Her laugh came loudly and unbridled, filling the empty space around them as much as her singing would. And then he realized in that exact moment that the sound of her laughter came second to the sound of her voice, and that he didn’t mind having to listen that either. He realized that he wanted to keep making her laugh.

 _What an investment this has become_.

“Your hair, huh?” She finally said once she had settled again.

“Yeah. I condition all the time, and sometimes I even do a little bit of coconut oil.”

“You don’t strike me as the type who would care so much about their hair.”

He raised his head at the statement, surprised to get any sort of confirmation that she thought of him outside of their conversations. 

“What do I strike you as then?”

There was a pause long enough for him to finish his current cigarette and then light another, and he began to fear he stepped too far.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But, I am equally surprised as I am not.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I mean, you have tattoos and piercings, so I’m not surprised you’re that dedicated to kind of self-care. But, again, it's hair. Most people don't give a shit.”

He made a noise of acknowledgement and nodded. “Fair point. I like being clean.”

His mother had often pointed out that his strange obsession with showering contradicted his apparent inability to do household chores that would assist in prolonging the cleanliness he desired. He could remember in great detail the scolding his mother delivered him upon his grand explanation that humans worked in funny, counterproductive ways in order to get out of washing the dishes.

“I would hope so,” she said with a laugh. Something fluttered ( _ugh_ , that was the _grossest_ way to describe that feeling) inside of him at the sound her laugh and he smiled.

“My living habits don’t reflect it,” he said, “but I can assure you that I am a clean human being.”

“All your cups and bowls,” she recalled.

He pushed one with his foot and hummed. “Yeah I’ve got about five out here right now.”

There was a lapse of conversation as they settled into a comfortable silence.

Shikamaru smoked the rest of his cigarette and crushed the butt into the little mountain of ash, reflecting on the seemingly effortless way they could talk with each other. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had noticed such an ease that fueled their talks, but the progression surprised him. He hadn’t expected being able to talk this freely with someone he still didn’t know completely, but it was centering.

The routine of talking with 710 was, despite its stability, carving out a new rift in his otherwise constant life. It was something different in his mundane life (something he had come to terms with a long time ago), and outside of his realm of possibility. 

Shikamaru did not go out of his way to make friends; his group consisting of three (five on a good day) friends knew that as well as they knew the light of day. He had always preferred to blend in with the shadows and keep the spotlight off of himself, preferring to staying unknown. Responsibility often was not delegated to people that were unknown.

His friends would make fun of him to no end if they knew of what he was doing; if they knew that he allowed such a disturbance into the pristine routine of his life.

But, that was where he found the comfort in 710; in being able to do such a thing without her having any prior knowledge of who he was to judge from.

She couldn’t make fun of him about something she didn’t know. Not that it mattered, though. If it made her laugh, he couldn’t care about anything else in the world and would welcome all the jokes and taunts she had to offer at his expense.

“How many of those do you smoke in a day?” 710 asked him in response to the clicking of his lighter. He hadn’t even notice he lit another cigarette (nor the beating of his heart, but that was a different matter).

He took a deep breath as he contemplated it and blew the smoke out from his nose. “On a bad day or a good day?”

“Both.”

“Bad day, I could easily go through a whole pack. Good day, I’d say maybe eight.”

She was quiet for a moment before asking softly, “Did you have a bad day?”

He rubbed his chin and tried identifying the familiar tightness in his chest at the question.

Any and all logical explanations escaped him as he sighed. “Not really, no. I mean, I did hit my head earlier but that’s not enough to make me smoke twenty cigarettes in one sitting.”

The lightness returned to her voice as she said, “That’s good. I mean, not that you hit your head, but you know. I don’t know how you do it, though.”

“What?”

“Smoke,” she said. “I can’t stand the smell. I don’t think I’d even be able to be with anyone who smoked—ah, no offense or anything.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “None taken. I didn’t even realize you were trying to come onto me like that.”

“Ha,” she scoffed in an equally teasing tone. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not; you wouldn’t know.”

“No,” he conceded, that tightness in his chest amplifying. “I wouldn’t.” 

They were quiet again and he began wondering what, if anything, that exchange had meant. Surely it had to be nothing. There was no way she would be trying to hit on him given how little she knew of him. He was reading too much into it, he knew. He knew she was prone to joking and harmless teasing, and that seemed to make the most sense above all else.

Enough silence had passed that 710 picked up her guitar and began tuning it, before playing a song he knew. It was an original of hers, an untitled one about the stars and the blackness of the night. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be enriched in the sound of her voice, letting the only sense that mattered to him in that moment be completely engulfed in the smoothness of her tone. 

“Hey,” she said immediately after she had finished the song. 

“Yes.” 

“Since my brother’s not living here anymore, let’s do this a little earlier in the night, like maybe around this time?” The suggestion was jagged with reluctance but that didn’t mean so much compared to the pace at which his heart rate picked up at.

 _What is_ this _,_ he wanted more than anything to ask, but stopped himself. He’d save it for another night, a different night, a better night. He’d save it all for another night, just as she was planning herself. 

“Yeah,” he said instead. “That last night took a huge toll on my mental ability.”

Her laugh was soft but agreeable. “Glad I’m not the only one. So, it’s a deal?”

“It’s a deal.”  

“Good,” she said quietly, and then again, “Good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow then?”

“Yes,” he said with more urgency than he meant to. “Tomorrow.”

“Okay. Good night.”

Shikamaru thought about a lot of things a lot of the time, both irrelevant and important, but he had never thought of whether it was possible to hear a smile in somebody’s voice until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am very adamant in the belief that Shikamaru is an unintentional, oblivious flirt. he's not very good at recognizing romance (obviously lol) but I think he is the type of person who flirts but doesn't even know it, which i know sounds super fake but i know at least four people in real life this way lol. hopefully he and/or Temari weren't horribly out of character, and that the pacing is still okay. we're slowly getting closer and closer to the more interesting bits! 
> 
> once again, thank you for your patience and please do let me know your thoughts! 
> 
> until next time x


	6. if i'm lucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey again guys! i'm keeping this beginning author's note a little short bc i want you to read the chapter before i explain anything as a way to keep it a surprise. it is quite long at a whopping 8k words so hopefully that makes up for my long absences lol. 
> 
> special thanks to the dearest [nahra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahra/pseuds/nahra) for making this [wonderful fanart](https://nahraa.tumblr.com/post/177964246565/heyyaaa-this-is-some-fanart-unfinished-lmao)!!! i'm still so blown away by how cute it is and how perfectly it captured the feel of their talks, so please give her lots of love if you haven't already read her fic [ The Desert and The Deer ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15285861/chapters/35460495)! another special thanks to thunderclouded for always leaving me the most thoughtful, engaging, and kind messages; you make my heart especially happy. and of course, thank you to every single one of you for being so patient and encouraging! 
> 
> i'm picking up the pace _a little bit_ so i hope it isn't too drastic of a change. anyways, there'll be another note at the end. 
> 
> also, highly recommend listening to if i'm lucky by state champs -- it's one of my favorite songs and is what i envision a lot of Temari's playing to be like and honestly just the mood for most of their talks despite it being a male singer 
> 
> as always, enjoy-

**“if i’m lucky” – state champs**  
.  
_“hello stranger, we haven’t had a past_  
_but now i’ve learned so much_ ”  
.

**_Dream Team_ **

**Narudoh  
** guess who passed the MOTHERFUCKING BAR EXAM AND IS NOW A KONOHAGAKURE BARRED LAWYER

 **Dr. Pig  
** not you

 **Dr. Forehead  
** not you

 **Chou  
** CONGRATS!!!

 **Narudoh**  
I hate ALL of you  
Who wants to get drunk and celebrate?

 **Chou  
** ok excuse me I said congrats at least

 **Narudoh  
** I hate all of you except Chouji

 **Dr. Pig  
** Let’s go to that new bar that opened on 8th

 **Dr. Forehead  
** Uhhh no I vote Hidden Sound

 **Dr. Pig  
** OK Sakura just because YOU’RE fucking the bartender there does not mean you can decide we go

 **Dr. Forehead  
** OK Ino just because YOU’RE a bitch does not mean you can tell me what to do

 **Chou  
** It’s so hard to believe you guys are like actual real life friends

 **Narudoh**  
RT  
I vote Sound though

 **Dr. Pig  
** Ugh fine. Since it’s your celebration. That place is gross but I dig the free drinks

 **Dr. Forehead  
** And I wonder how you can even get free drinks in the first place…

 **Dr. Pig  
** Maybe because a certain best friend of mine is fucking the bartender?

 **Chou  
** WHOOOAAAA WHEN DID SHIKAMARU START FUCKING THE BARTENDER??

 **Narudoh  
** LMAOOOOOOOOOOO DRINKS ON ME CHOUJI ALL NIGHT  

At the desk beside him, he could hear Naruto snickering along to the _pings_ that indicated the new messages he was trying to ignore on the account that they were supposed to be working. He glanced at his phone from the out of corner of his eye and immediately looked back at the screen before him, making note of far too many messages for him to process. He figured whatever it was regardless of importance would be made known to him by Naruto and his loud mouth anyways.

As if on cue, his blond friend wheeled his chair over towards him. “Dude. Dude, Chouji went in on you _so_ hard, you know.”

“Don’t you have a case coming up, or something? Your first one as a barred attorney?” He didn’t have to look over to know that Naruto met him with a deflated frown.

“I do, yes, but I’ll worry about that when I’m done celebrating. Also, I didn’t even tell you yet, how’d you know?” The squeaking of his chair was painstakingly annoying on his ears.

“A couple of things really,” Shikamaru drawled, continuing away at his keyboard. “The District Attorney _is_ my father, who I happen to talk to regularly. And not to mention, you came into the office after your lunch break fucking yelling about it.” 

“Hm,” Naruto said contemplatively. “Hm, hm. Fair. That’s fair. No congratulations?”

“Congrats.” 

The familiar blond hair came into his peripheral view. “Maybe with a little more feeling?”

“You and I both know that’s as much feeling as I can muster at this time.”

“Also fair,” he conceded. This time, Naruto inched himself as close as cultural standards allowed him to towards his face, and he could smell the ramen on his breath. “You’re coming out with us tonight, right?”

Shikamaru turned slightly to face Naruto, frowning at the uncomfortable closeness between them. “I don’t have much room to say no, do I?”

He barked a laugh and scooted away. “Do you plan being that funny or does it just happen?”    

“I’m just that talented,” he allowed a humored grin at Naruto’s reaction. “What’s the plan?”

“Hidden Sound, as usual,” Naruto answered with pursed lips and outstretched legs as he spun in his chair. It was hard to believe somebody had the rational judgement to allow him to pass the bar exam, but Shikamaru elected to save such comments for a collective roast of Naruto later that night with their friends.

“Are _you_ trying to fuck that bartender there or is there some other reason as to why we always go to Sound?” Shikamaru asked lazily, attending to the stack of papers beside his keyboard. 

“Chouji already made a joke of _you_ fucking the bartender, so try again,” Naruto informed him with a tap on his phone. “But I don’t know. I just like the place.” 

The argument would have been convincing to anybody who had never been to Hidden Sound. It was a music bar past the shopping district of downtown Konohagakure and tucked beneath a thrift store. The underground establishment had been open for years but their friend group had only begun to frequent it three years ago when Naruto exclaimed of a _cool_ place to get strong yet cheap drinks. 

Shikamaru always questioned Naruto’s basic cognitive functioning mostly as a joke but when he called Hidden Sound _cool,_ he had expected something more of a regular modern bar and less of a run-down clown house. Perhaps it was because Sound was located in a remotely nicer part of the city (as if there were even wholly “bad” parts of the city to begin with) that highlighted the sketchiness of the place, but Shikamaru didn’t care enough to give it anymore evaluation. Naruto had been right in that the drinks _were_ strong, and not only were they cheap, they were often _free._  

He did wonder how they were able to pass health codes to stay open, but the wonder usually dissipated when he was three drinks in.

“Someone has to be fucking the bartender to be getting free drinks,” he wondered aloud, hoping Naruto would be picking up what he was putting down. Since Ino had mentioned Sakura getting a plus one to the wedding, Shikamaru had grown increasingly curious despite his lack of interest in the wedding affairs. 

“Not me,” he chirped, oblivious as he always was. “I’m tapping a finer ass if you know what I mean.” 

Shikamaru grimaced. “Gross. There’s literally nothing else that could mean. Also, I do not under any circumstance, drunk or sober, ever want to hear about your and Hinata’s sex life.”

“It’s pretty interesting, you know,” Naruto said with a waggle of his eyebrow, nudging him in the rib.

Before he himself could react, a familiar voice grumbled in front of them.

“What’s pretty interesting?” His father looked as amused as he often was at work, which happened to be never. “Surely it can’t be your work given that neither of you are doing it.” 

Naruto’s impish grin flat-lined across his paled face as he slowly turned to then force a painfully fake smile to the District Attorney. “It’s nothing, sir.”

“No,” Shikamaru chimed. “I think you should tell him since you were so bent on telling me.”

It was Naruto’s turn to grimace as he shook his head. “No, I’d really rather not, you know.” 

His father sighed and slapped a manila folder to the ceasefire zone of their connected desks. “Your last case to prep before I let you fully take on HEBI. Divide it up how you will.” 

Naruto sobered up immediately and gave a solemn, curt nod. “Yes, sir. I won’t disappoint you.” 

He could feel his forehead wrinkle in confusion at the mention of _HEBI_ and Naruto’s complete change in demeanor. He had heard the word a handful of times over the course of the past year, only being uttered by his father or Naruto in severely hushed tones. He figured it had to be something of high importance given that nobody else was aware of whatever the hell HEBI was, but he felt discouraged to ask his father.

He had learned over the years that it meant one thing to be District Attorney Nara’s legal assistant and another to be Nara Shikaku’s son. He had to be one or the other at certain places and certain times. There were things he could ask and could say without any repercussion as his son, but other things as well that would overstep the careful line he had to walk as his legal assistant. He assumed HEBI was one of those things.

“I’d hope not,” his father responded half-jokingly, the seriousness of their two-toned conversation dissolving before them. He then turned to face him, giving him a brief nod. “Your mother would like to have you over for dinner tonight.”

“You make it sound like it pains you to say that,” he drawled, matching his tone.

“It does a little bit, yes,” his father conceded. “Maybe if you beat me in a game of shogi I’ll consider letting you eat dinner.”  
  
He scowled. “You and I both know I’d starve then.”

His father gave him a smirk, one that his mother often said he inherited. “You’re finally learning, my son. Dinner will be ready at six.”

“Great,” he deadpanned. “See you then, I guess.”

The District Attorney retreated back into his office, allowing life to resume once more. It often felt as if the entire floor held its breath at the appearance of the DA, life pausing for just a moment to accommodate the large, commanding presence his father had. It meant nothing to him, of course, having lived with the man for the first eighteen years of his life made his father’s presence underwhelming. To him, the DA was nothing more than his weird dad who refused to cut his hair and fell asleep at the table after three too many beers. His dad who had a weird obsession with socks, and wept uncontrollably when a baby deer was born.

But, he always admired his father for his ability to inspire those around him despite beginning as nothing more than a forest boy who managed to scrape his way into Konohagakure’s powerhouse. The Nara had always been famous for their deer for as long as the state had been established, but for the first time with his father, they had become a name associated with prestige and accomplishment. The Nara were praised for their intelligence and cunning, working closely with the Uchiha, who headed the notoriously strict and thorough police force, for reducing organized crime and drug-trafficking. 

Since his father’s rise to District Attorney, there were more branch member Nara becoming attorneys and weaving their way into the justice system. It was a biased way of looking at it as a Nara himself, but his people were smart and ambitious—the change his father brought upon just by becoming such an important figure had inspired them to put that ambition into practice. 

If only he could say the same about himself.

His mother often remarked he inherited more of the Nara laziness above everything else. He never had the gall to argue, and neither did his father of which his mother often held by the throat. But, it was in a loving way, of course—had it not been for his mother, Shikamaru was almost certain his father would not have even strived for the position of District Attorney.

“A swift kick in the ass is what you men need,” she’d mutter.

Perhaps a time would come that he’d be willing to receive such a swift kick in the ass, but he was still managing to dodge them much to the frustration of his mother. He made silent promises to his mother that one day he’d bring home some sort of prestige, but for now, he was content with living idly day to day.

Life was too stable to disrupt, he justified often. He liked staring at the still pool, not wanting to agitate such a pristine view. He was never one for rushing head first into uncharted waters, after all. 

Which, of course, came the irony of speaking with 710. He had nothing to say of his jumping straight into the black waters of conversation, being unbothered in allowing himself to sink deeper and deeper and deeper. He had no fear of the unknown then, and welcomed the rippling instability of making friends with somebody that he didn’t know (at least, not in the conventional sense). 

That was primarily the reason as to why he hadn’t told anybody of the conversations yet. Not even Chouji knew, his depository for all his secrets that Ino had express access to. He wasn’t afraid of judgment, not since that was the basis of most of his friendships nowadays (only jokingly of course; the foundation of his friendships were built of stronger stuff, it just so happened to be that joking judgment was inevitable) but he wouldn’t be able to explain the wrinkle in his obsessively ironed-crisp, routine-driven life.

They’d make fun of him, as he had concluded time and time again, but after their laughs faded into genuine curiosity as to _why_ he was doing what he was doing, he would have absolutely no answer for them. And him having no answer for them would freak them the fuck out, he knew that explicitly and without a doubt. 

Him not having an answer or rationale for action was akin to a forest ablaze—his friends would dissolve in disbelief and question whether he was _actually_ Nara Shikamaru. 

Okay, so maybe he was being a little dramatic, but it didn’t change the fact that he would not have been able to answer or justify or even begin to explain why he made the decision to make friends with somebody he still had not yet met in person. 

He could _attempt_ to put into coherent sentences the feelings conversations with 710 evoked in him, and possibly attempt to do the same with what the sound of her voice did to him when she sang or laughed. But, he didn’t think they would understand. Maybe Ino would, but she would jump straight at the opportunity to pick his brain and he didn’t like it when she did that. At least not when it came to things he couldn’t immediately defend. 

He knew she’d make some assumption about 710, as she often did with her psychoanalyzing, and the thought of that possibility alone made him upset. He loved Ino as much as he could stomach to say so, but he wasn’t sure if he could stand the thought of her trying to make assumptions of somebody he was only starting to know. It wasn’t that he wanted to keep this specific image of who he created 710 to be in his mind, but he didn’t want anybody to make assumptions of her when they didn’t _know_ her like he did.

He’d sound like a fool for defending somebody’s compassion or kindness when he had no ties to them besides sharing facts in the dark, besides being a listening ear. He knew his friends would catch him there, knew that they would point out the bizarre fault in the arrangement he made with 710.

He couldn’t be mad, not really, not at all. His friends were caring and steadfast in their loyalty to him and each other, and he knew it’d be out of concern—but that didn’t change the fact that whatever it was between himself and 710 was _different._ A different kind of loyalty, and concern, and enjoyment.

They wouldn’t get it. At least, not until he made the effort to meet 710 and find out her name.

He thought about it (a lot) and wondered in addition to what she looked like. But he was biding his time, knowing that it would come when it was meant to come. He blamed it on his lazy nature. Maybe his mother was right. 

He also attributed not asking her name to the fact that it was certainly past the time to do so. Maybe the first few nights after they had started talking would have been appropriate—but now? _Now?_ It was far too late. The window had closed and barred shut. He wouldn’t even attempt to try and pry something like that open; it was against his way of operating. And it was hard not to mention the fact that she hadn’t asked his name either, in the same way she hadn’t asked to meet him in person. 

Did that mean she didn’t care? That she wasn’t as invested?

He didn’t know, but he’d like to know. He didn’t think that either of those explanations were possible with the way she requested to change the times at which they met—which had never been agreed upon verbally but only happened out of habit. He didn’t think that she wasn’t as invested given the way she asked him every so often if she could play him another song, or the way she humored him and laughed at his poorly made jokes. 

He considered the possibility that she might have been nervous to suggest a meeting. But then, he considered what he knew of her and what he could infer, and she didn’t strike him as a nervous person. So, he thought then that he might have been projecting his own feelings onto her.

 _Was_ he nervous?

Maybe. Just a little bit. Mostly for what she would think of him, but that was something he had to grapple with himself.

“Hey,” Naruto slapped his arm. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“What?” Shikamaru said, pausing his typing. He refocused on the screen and realized his fingers were misaligned, resulting in purely eloquent gibberish. He swallowed hard.

“You looked like you were going to shit yourself so I wanted to make sure you didn’t do that next to me, you know,” he said.

“I was just thinking,” he responded, a little defensively. 

“Hm,” Naruto grunted. “Hm. You were thinking very hard then.”

“Yes,” Shikamaru confirmed, having no intent on disclosing what exactly he was thinking about. “What time are we meeting up tonight?”

“You can come by my place at like nine-thirty,” Naruto answered. “Ko’s gonna drive us and I’ll just Shunshin you back to your place.” 

Shikamaru made a contemplative noise as he continued to backspace his mistakes. “Or you could buy me a Shunshin to your place _and_ back so I can save money on gas since I already got to drive to my parents.” 

Naruto barked a laugh. “Okay, fine. Only because I’m feeling quite generous after being bestowed this great responsibility of barred attorney.” 

“I was kidding but thanks, I appreciate it,” Shikamaru said sincerely. “I owe you.”

He waved a hand at him. “Don’t worry about it, it’s all right, you know.”

Naruto was a bumbling idiot, but it was mostly for show to discourage those that didn’t know any better. Beneath his thickheaded exterior was one of the most empathetic and generous people he had ever known in his entire life. Shikamaru was always astounded at the goodness Naruto had in his heart, even when it came to small things like paying for rides. He lived up to his princely title. 

His friend was also much smarter than anybody ever gave him credit for, but he made it easy for them to make fun of him. He was able to take it and dish it back to them, but they all knew deep down that Naruto was the most golden-hearted. It was a good thing that he had become a lawyer; he knew that Naruto actually cared about what went on and was not in it for anything more than ensuring that people got the justice they deserved.

“Actually if your mom’s making a mackerel, I’ll accept that as payment for the Shunshin,” Naruto suggested, quirking his eyebrows.

He gave him a humorless laugh and shook his head. “If my ma’s making a mackerel, I’m eating the whole damn thing myself.”

“That’s selfish!” Naruto exclaimed. “Even after I offered to buy your Shunshin for you?!”

“Yeah,” Shikamaru said. “You gonna make a case out of it?” 

Naruto grumbled. “I damn well might. Your mom makes a killer mackerel.”

“She does, yes,” Shikamaru agreed. There wasn’t even any confirmation to whether his mother was actually making a mackerel but he was excited nonetheless. It was always a treat to be able to go home and be welcomed with a home-cooked meal by his mother. Ever since he moved out of his childhood home to embark on his college journey and subsequent poor navigation of adult life, he realized how much he had taken for granted his mother’s overseeing in his daily choices.

Since that revelation, he had made an extra effort to appreciate his mother; hence, the ritualistic trips to the farmer’s market. 

As he thought of his plans for that night, the thought occurred to him of whether he would be able to make it back home in time for his talk with 710. Since the night they had agreed to meet earlier, he had found himself adjusting his sleep schedule to accommodate the change over the past week. Which was not a bad thing at all—he felt much better going to bed at one in the morning as opposed to waking up then.

710 had mentioned that the change was good for her as well, commenting that she had finally been able to sleep peacefully through the night without disturbances. He agreed but conveniently left out that her singing had become a main contributor to helping him accept sleep. It had gotten to that point in the habit building that a night was not fully closed until he heard at least one song of hers. Would that be qualified as an obsession?

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer to that question.

* * *

Ko pulled up unceremoniously to the front of Hidden Sound and he pressed his lips into a thin line; the place didn’t look any less sketchy since the last time they had visited.

They all filed out of the car in the order of himself, Chouji, Ino, Sakura, Hinata, then Naruto, who slapped a hand to the top of the car. “Thanks Ko! You’re a gem as always.”

“I’ll be out here whenever you’re ready to leave,” he said though it was more for Hinata than Naruto, the former of which nodded graciously.

“Thank you, Ko. Are you sure you don’t want to come inside?” Hinata asked as Naruto appeared to wrap an arm around her waist.

Shikamaru couldn’t hear what was said once he stepped away from the car but took it as a hard no as Naruto threw the door of the limousine closed. For as long as he had known Ko, the man never did anything besides sit in the car waiting for all of them to be too drunk to function.

To the unsuspecting, Ko seemed like nothing more than Hyuuga Hinata’s personal driver. But, in truth he was her bodyguard and had been for almost twenty years. Naruto told the friend group sometime after he and Hinata had started dating that she was nearly abducted during her childhood—the motive was suspected to been out of spite for the Hyuuga’s success.

The near kidnap was fortunately thwarted by Hinata’s own father, but since then, the Hyuuga patriarch had lived in fear of his eldest daughter being targeted again. Ko, himself, was a distant Hyuuga relative and was enlisted with the job to protect Hinata only up until her eighteenth birthday. Naruto disclosed to them that his contract was long expired but Hinata had become such an important aspect of his life that Ko asked for an extension or anything to remain in her life; not out of obligation or weird obsession, but because he had truly grown to love her.

Hinata was unknowing of the depth of Ko’s devotion, but Naruto thought it was better that way. She herself had always thought of Ko as more of a friend than an actual body guard given that he was the one that often accompanied her to places instead of her parents. He had become something like an older brother figure to Hinata and it would have been a lie if any of them said they weren’t grateful for Ko driving them places all the time as well. 

Ino made a noise of disgust under her breath as they entered the bar after flashing the bouncers their IDs. “I don’t think anybody here believes in cleanliness.”

“Yeah,” Sakura agreed begrudgingly. “But, you’re here for free drinks and not some five-star restaurant.”

He tuned out their bickering as he glanced around the bar. The space was decently sized and well-occupied despite its scary and dingy atmosphere. A band he imagined was local played at the top of the platform flanked by two giant speakers, their sound meaning nothing to him as it couldn’t compare to 710. Despite the loudness of the music, it did nothing to drown out the buzz of conversation around them.

Their group settled for a high top that managed to seat all six of them albeit snugly as Naruto hollered for drink orders.

“I’m surprised Sakura’s not going over to get them,” Ino said in a jokingly sarcastic tone, nudging her in the rib. “You don’t want to see your boyfriend tonight?” 

Sakura rolled her eyes and swatted Ino away. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“What’s his name again?” Chouji asked innocently as he chomped on the complimentary peanuts left out for patrons. Shikamaru shot him a look with furrowed brows as his best friend gave him a subtle shrug. It seemed as if Ino had enlisted Chouji in uncovering the secrecy behind the mysterious plus one and the Sound bartender.

“His name is Takamaru,” she allowed between clenched teeth. He recognized that the tension between Sakura and Ino was in good humor as it often was, but there was the potential for it to spoil and sour.

As if on cue, the remaining four of them leaned backward to glance over at the bar where Naruto stood, waiting eagerly for their drinks. He was one of two blonds near the bar area—the other being the bartender that Sakura was allegedly fucking named Takamaru.

Shikamaru had never seen the guy up close himself but he knew that the blond hair was a mess. It was haphazardly kept, being longer in the front and cropped poorly in the back. The hair color was not as vibrant as Naruto’s, suggesting that maybe he was a box blond as opposed to a natural, but Shikamaru didn’t really give a fuck. Takamaru made strong drinks and that was all that mattered to him even in spite of his friend’s complaints that the bartender was never friendly and always scowling. 

“Have you gotten his number yet?” Ino continued prodding, happily receiving the drink Naruto pushed in front of her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, pig,” Sakura said as she sipped the vodka lemonade in front of her.

“I do. That’s why I’m asking, dummy,” Ino shot back as she swirled the straw in her drink.

“I haven’t, okay?” Sakura said. He did not like where the conversation was going; he tried mentally telling Ino as much, hoping she would pick up on the distress signal.

She didn’t, as usual, and continued to ask, “Well, what’s stopping you?”

Sakura stiffened immediately, a reaction of which captured the attention of Naruto who had paused his conversation with Hinata. Chouji gave him a look of panic at the sudden somberness that overtook the table and he himself tried leaning back as far as he could to distance himself from the situation.

“I don’t—can we just not talk about this? Please?” Sakura asked tiredly though her words remained sharp. Ino softened like butter and pressed a hand to Sakura’s arm.

“Hey, I’m sorry, pea,” she said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just want you to be happy, you know that right?”

Sakura sighed and pushed the hairs that fell into her face away. “I know. I know. I just—I just don’t want to talk about that. It’s still too soon.”

 _It_ referring to the sudden death of her fiancé, the loss of Naruto’s best friend just three years ago.

Some said Uchiha Sasuke had been in the prime of his career when his life was cut far too short just after his promotion to detective and proposal to his longtime girlfriend. He was the prodigal second son of esteemed Commissioner Uchiha Fugaku and renowned journalist Yasui Mikoto, as well as the younger brother of highly successful officer Uchiha Itachi— and even from then his reputation grew exponentially by his own right.

Shikamaru could recall the broody boy from high school who had made captain of the varsity soccer and valedictorian of their class, and who was unbearably stoic in his need to rise to the expectations bestowed upon him.

It was needless to say he had risen above and beyond those expectations, having excelled through the force and climbed the ranks at a rate only ever seen by his brother. The peak of his career would have been saving the Governor’s life after an attempted murder, had he survived but, unfortunately, that was not the case.

The event had all of Konohagakure shell-shocked given that Governor Namikaze was well-received all the years he spent in office. The assassination attempt came out of nowhere, though had it not been for Sasuke’s quick thinking, the Governor would be six feet under.

It was a bitter result either way for Naruto, who could barely celebrate his father’s survival at the expense of losing his lifelong best friend.

“Hey you assholes,” Naruto said, slapping a hand to the table. “We’re here to celebrate the most important lawyer to ever be barred, remember?”

It was a good save on his part, trying to steer the conversation away from something that hurt both him and Sakura as he grinned at all of them.

“Yeah,” Shikamaru said, raising his glass. “Let’s celebrate the worst mistake the Konohagakure bar has made yet.”

That elicited cheers and laughs from the group, much to the annoyance of Naruto, who rolled his eyes though raised his glass anyways. 

They began discussing their busy schedules, as was custom of their outings to Sound. It was the same as it often was—Sakura and Ino going on about their respective patients, then sharing excitement over the similarities of handling live versus dead bodies. Chouji would attempt to speak over their giggles, gaining only the attention of himself, Naruto, and Hinata as he filled them in on his duties at the toxicology lab of Konohagakure.

“That sounds like a pain,” Shikamaru commented as he took another sip of the vodka lemonade sans lemonade he was given. He took in a sharp breath through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, quelling the flames that raked the inside of his mouth and the back of his throat.

Chouji gave a shrug and said, “It’s not all that bad,” before going on about toxicologist things that Shikamaru, at the moment, could not understand.

He absorbed the sound of Chouji’s voice and gave some indication that he was listening as his best friend got into the zone of his job though his attention turned elsewhere. His eyes scanned the bar as best they could through the thickening alcohol fog that clouded his already minimal attention span. He had been trying his best of keeping track of time but it moved far too fast for his drunken brain to keep up with.

At that moment, familiar tufts of blonde caught his attention and his first instinct was to think of _her_. He craned his neck to get a better look but saw nothing else as the blonde hair moved behind a wall of people.

Maybe he was seeing things—it was one thing to actual see and to think he saw, and he _was_ drunk and there would be no way she'd be there of all places. He kept looking, though, because he was not one to discredit his own sight until he got some sort of confirmation of one thing or the other.

But it was hard to see that far and perhaps he should have been looking for red instead of blonde; if she was here, she wouldn’t have been by herself would she? As he thought of that, the sea of people parted near the entrance and he caught a glimpse of the confirmation he was seeking. 

It had to be her; there was no other that wore their hair that way and she was not with her Redheaded Companion but somebody else—another woman whose dark hair blended in with the dimmed lights and was twisted in two knots at either side of her head. There was no denying it.

And what did that mean? What did it mean to see this beautiful woman at every turn of his life? At the places he frequented most often?

It couldn’t have been a coincidence. It couldn’t have been, right? 

When he glanced down at his phone, he found that it was half past eleven. Time truly had moved much faster than he was able to register.

Part of growing older had meant that in order to minimize the chances of a hangover, their collective alcohol intake grew smaller with each passing year. He hadn't even registered finishing a second drink until he looked down at the table, but that was enough for him and he wanted to _leave_. His friends fortunately were ready to leave as well as they began stepping away from the table in a collective sway.

“Hey,” Shikamaru said, hitting Naruto's arm with the back of his hand. “Can you just buy me a Shunshin from here back to my place?”

He knew that it would be harder to leave if he went back to Naruto's with the group; they would rope him into conversation or maybe even watching a movie, which he didn't mind most nights, but it was different then. 

“You sure?” Naruto asked. “It’d be less time for you to spend in a Shunshin if we just went back to my place first.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter much to me. I’ll just wait outside for it.”

“If you say so,” Naruto acquiesced as he ordered the Shunshin from his phone. “It’ll be here in five. Don’t talk to any of the sketchy dudes, though.”

“As you say mother,” Shikamaru drawled, stepping out into the cool air. It made his throat and lungs itch for a cigarette.

Faithfully, Ko was parked at the end of the street where his friends began herding themselves toward.

“Thanks again, dude,” Shikamaru said to Naruto as he began walking away. “I’ll bring you a coffee for the next week.”

“Good deal,” Naruto grinned. “Have a good night. Let me know when you get back?”

“For sure.”

He watched as Ko pulled away before reaching for a cigarette and his lighter. At that moment, a taxi pulled up to the curb in front of where he stood and the windows rolled down to reveal a sickly pale man with grey hair parted so that his right eye had been covered. It was not a welcoming sight. 

The man gave him a smile. “Hey pal, need a ride?”

Shikamaru took a drag and lazily rolled one of his shoulders in a half shrug. “I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure?” The man asked with slight insistence. “They’re free, courtesy of Hidden Sound.”

He narrowed his eyes at that statement and blew the smoke from his lips. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve got a Shunshin on the way.”

The man gave him a look of annoyance but forced a smile again before saying, “All right. Pass the word along that Hidden Sound’s got their own taxi service.”

He had no intention of doing so, but said anyways, “Sure.” 

By the time his Shunshin arrived, it was nearing midnight and the drive back would take at least half an hour. He didn’t like being late, not for anything, but especially not for something like talking with 710. Maybe it had been the alcohol mixing with his habitual need for 710’s conversations that made him so antsy, but he couldn’t know for sure as his gazed was fixed on the dashboard’s clock. 

Fortunately for him, the driver chose not to speak to him besides the obligatory “Hello, how are you?” and the drive passed much faster than it should’ve.

He didn’t think he was one to be so easily influenced by things. He had never considered that anything would fill him with such a sense of urgency to the point of climbing the stairs two at a time, bolting down the hall, and throwing the door of his apartment open.

He didn’t think that the sound of somebody’s voice alone would ever have him running from his front door to his balcony.

And he never once thought that said voice would be able to loosen the tightness in his chest that came with the fear of missing something important.

Maybe he was more drunk than he thought.

“Hey!” He said, bursting out onto the balcony and nearly tripping over his hammock. He took a deep breath to steady his heavy breathing and tried again, more calmly, “Hey.”

She was out there, as they had planned night after night, and paused her playing. “Hey? Are you okay?”

The concern in her voice had him slapping his hands to his face. “I’m—yeah, I’m fine. I’m good. I just. I was out and I saw the time and—and I thought of you. I thought I was going to be late.” He laughed because he sounded so ridiculous, slurring the words his brain thought too fast for his mouth to catch up with.

710 laughed too, probably in response to his nonsensical rambling and he might have been offended had it not been for the fact that her laugh was the most beautiful thing he heard that night. 

“Sorry,” 710 said between breathy laughter. “I’m sorry. I’m—I thought the same thing. I was with a friend and—I guess I thought I was the only one who was worried about being late.” 

He leaned against the railing of the balcony and sank to the floor, hanging his head between his hands. His face was beginning to hurt from the stupidly drunk grin he had on his face.

“No, you’re not the only one,” he said.

“Are you drunk?” She asked him. He pulled the tie out from his hair, letting it fall to his shoulders as he shook it out, as if to deny his drunkenness to the girl that couldn’t see him. 

“I might be,” he responded, raking his fingers through his hair.

She laughed. “You can just say yes.” 

“Yes,” he said because more often than not he did what he was told. “Yes.”

“That makes two of us then,” she confided.

“You drink often?” He asked with little thought; he just needed to hear her voice and it didn’t matter to him what they were talking about so long as they were _talking._  

She made a noise of acknowledgment. “Only occasionally. Mostly just wine on a good night, but I thought I’d give nightlife in the big city a try.”

“It’s something else,” he commented. “How’d you like it?”

710 laughed again. “It was… fine. Nothing like what I expected it to be but it wasn’t absolutely horrible.”

“I feel that,” he said. “I think it’s more boring when you’re older anyways.”

“You’re calling me old?” She asked with feigned offense.

He scoffed with a grin and rubbed his eyes; the alcohol was making him more tired than he usually was. “No, of course not.”

“You sound quite sarcastic,” she said accusingly though he was still able to pick up that it was in good humor.

“It’s the alcohol speaking,” he retorted, gaining a laugh of approval from her.

“All right, I’ll let it slide this time.” 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence long enough for her to pick up her guitar and grace him with her voice. She sang him one of her originals again, one of the ones she favored the most. He could remember the first time she had played it for him, a little uncertainty in her voice as she tried to pace out the melodies. She had said it was a little rough around the edges but it had been the most amazing thing he’d ever heard. Of course, he didn’t say as much, but he could hear now that it _had_ gotten better even with her drunken fingers playing.

There was a sureness in her voice that had not been there before as she brought to life the lyrics she strung together herself, making it so much more powerful. He had closed his eyes and risked falling asleep again in order to fully allow himself to be immersed in the richness of her voice until it came to a slow close. 

“Can I ask you something?” He asked before he had the chance to think critically. “You don’t—you don’t have to answer if you don’t want.” 

“It’s cool,” she assured him. “What’s up?”

“Why do you do this?”

“Do what?”

“Sing,” he said. “I’m not trying to sound like an asshole but is there a reason? Is this your job? Or is it for fun?”

Drunkenness had taken advantage of his curiosity and commandeered his vocal cords, but what was said could not be taken back. 

There was a contemplative silence for a moment before 710 spoke again. “My job—yeah, I guess this is my job. Haven’t been booked yet, but I’m trying. I thought it'd be easier here than it is at home but maybe I haven’t been trying hard enough.”

“Or maybe everyone is deaf,” he blurted. “I mean—they just can’t recognize that you’re talented. You’ll find a place soon.”

“You think so?” 

“I know so, yeah,” he said. “I know so.”

“You’re being too nice,” she said skeptically.

“Honest,” he corrected. “It’s honesty. I mean it; you’re talented. Very talented.”

He predicted that sober him would be very upset with what drunk him was doing, but that would be a problem for tomorrow. 

She was quiet again. “I shouldn’t be so surprised because—because _I know_ I’m talented but,” she paused to laugh disbelievingly. “But—it’s been a while since I’ve heard that.”

 _I’ll tell you again and again and again_ , he thought but actually had the better judgement not to say. 

“Been a while?” He echoed instead.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I mean—it’s nice, thank you. I’m glad you think so. It’s just—I am _trying_ to make it big. I need to. It’s not _I want to_ but I _need_ to.” 

He didn’t say anything, unsure of whether he was allowed to ask what that had meant. He could hear her breathing; a shaky inhale and a deep exhale.

“Why?” He asked hesitantly.

“They’re her songs, you know,” she said, leaving his question unanswered. “Or, at least most of them are. Some of them are mine too. Some that we wrote together. But the good ones are hers. The melodies too, and the music. God,” there was another sharp intake. “Fuck. I—I just need to make this work.”

“You will,” he tried.

“I _have_ to,” she said in response. “She thought I could make it big, so I have to. I—I want to do right by her and make it. She always said her greatest dream come true would be seeing me on the biggest stage possible.”

“Who?” He asked quietly, again too drunk to think critically before asking. “For who?” 

“My mom,” she responded in an equally small voice. “For my mom. She deserved the world and I still want to give it to her, even if it means giving the world her music.”

There was silence for a moment again as he tried processing the gravity of her confession. The wistfulness of her voice when mentioning her mother the few times she had suddenly made sense, and he suspected it was much more grave than he could have imagined given that she referred to her in the past tense. He swallowed hard and threw his head back so it touched the metal bars that kept him from falling backwards. 

“I have to make it work,” she continued, words growing uneven as they left her mouth. “I left home to do this, to make it come true for my mom and let her live on through the music. To let the world know of her talent through me. And I left my brothers with _him._ So it has to work—I have to make it big for them too.” 

“Am I being selfish?” She asked though he suspected it was to the nighttime air instead of him, speaking to the actual void and not him. “He was never the same after she died, you know. Something changed and I mean—I couldn’t, I _can’t_ blame him but—since Gaara… since Gaara, it was never the same. And I don’t know why. He was too hard on him and even more so after mom died and then it got so, so, _so_ bad when Gaara came out.”

“Mom used to sing to him, all the time when he was younger but before she got sick. We all loved it, even _he_ did. I told him I wanted to be just like mom and I’d never seen him so happy—he paid for my lessons and the guitar, all that shit. But when mom—when mom died… and I tried singing to Gaara because you know, Gaara loved when mom sang and I wanted him to be happy—but when I did _he’d_ just get mad and said not to indulge him. That Gaara didn’t deserve it because it was his fault mom got sick in the first place.”

There was a harsh, humorless laugh that melted into something short of a sob. “I’m just trying—I miss her. I miss her so much, and I want Gaara to be happy and safe, but it’s so hard because I feel like have to do this. _I have to._ Am I being selfish for leaving my baby brother with our monster of a father? To make a dead wish come true?”

He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, burning in the heat of the sun and unable to form anything coherent to say. The weight of it crushed his heart and he had difficulty understanding how anybody as strikingly talented and welcoming and kind as _her_ would be subjected to such pain.

“No,” he finally settled on saying. “No. You’re not being selfish. You’re doing what you think is right by your ma, and good can’t come without a little sacrifice.” 

“ _Sacrifice_ ,” she repeated. “I wish—I wish he stayed. He shouldn’t have gone home. I should’ve been better—a better sister and told him to stay. But he thinks—he thinks he can shoulder this alone. Take _him_ on by himself. He’s got guts of steel, my brother, but I don’t want him to do that. He's been through too much already. He has, I mean, he has Kankurou and Yashamaru but there’s only so much those two can do against _him._ ”

She let out another noise between a bitter laugh and a strained cry. “I keep thinking that maybe if I make it big and our stupid old man hears mom’s songs, something will change and he’ll finally _listen_ to what the fuck we've got to say. That he’ll get better. That he’ll be tolerable again. That he’ll _love_ again.”

“But then I keep thinking that maybe this was a mistake too,” she continued. “That I’m being fucking stupid and my best bet is at home. That I shouldn’t have ever left. That I should've just stayed and tried getting recognized there. Do the opportunities and possibilities outweigh my fear of failure and looking like an embarrassment? Do I have too much pride to even make it big?”

“No,” he said. “There are so many people here that are waiting to hear somebody like you. To be able to witness talent like yours,” he tried his damn hardest to sound sincere through the thickness his drunk mind laid on his tongue. “You will blow so many people away. You’re amazing.”

“Temari,” she said quietly with a sniffle.

“What?”

“My name is Temari.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so first and foremost, given that this is a slowburn it's going to be kind of while before the big run-in between 710/Temari and Shikamaru happens. that being said, i pace out the chapters so they're typically a week apart story-wise so that there's unseen development between Shikamaru and 710 of small talk that leads them up to the point we're at now. so i hope that the pacing isn't suddenly dramatic because that wasn't my intention; i just want to get things moving a little more so that there isn't just like 8k of repetitious writing both for myself and for you guys to read. 
> 
> secondly, i really hope Temari wasn't extremely out of character. _I_ personally don't think she is because she's a character who canonically lost her mother at a young age and had to deal with basically being treated as killing machine by her psychologically standoffish father, on top of watching her brother be emotionally abused by said father. so i think it's fair to have Temari be affected by that and to be allowed to mourn her mother. It's not very clear but I changed the time at which Karura died to being later in their lives as opposed to right when Gaara was born because I think we were robbed of an important relationship between Temari and her mother so there's that ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ also to make it explicitly clear, i do not like Rasa. as an overall character, he was great but what he did to Gaara was unforgivable and just because Gaara accepted his apology doesn't mean I did so LOL 
> 
> idk if Temari would actually leave her home to pursue something like this for the sake of her mother (i personally think it's a possibility but, again, not 100% sure) but i'm a messy bitch who utilized that for the sake of drama. i'm also realizing how much this story parallels c plus LOL 
> 
> ALSO, sidenote, this chapter did a LOT of storybuilding doubling as worldbuilding for another fic i'll be writing sometime in the future that i'm very excited about so i hope you guys enjoyed that! let me know your thoughts on the overall chapter, throwaways you picked up on, whatever you found great/interesting/that could've been done better 
> 
> (hope you guys enjoyed the swap of Shunshin for Uber -- i'm making it my personal endeavor to make real life things more ninja friendly in this modern AU lol)
> 
> til next time x


	7. growing on you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow! hello again after this unexpected hiatus. school and life have been very very hectic and i know i sound like a broken record but i'm so sorry for keeping you all waiting! to keep this short, i hope to finish this story during my break because i feel bad letting it sit with so many pauses in between. i also anticipate there to be only about 5 chapters left given how long each of these chapters are ending up to be. i'll be picking up the pace a bit in terms of progression but also within the story's time frame-- a very special event that acts as the entire story's turning point is coming up very soon! 
> 
> additionally, i want to give a very special thanks to everyone who's continued to keep up with coffee shop soundtrack even in spite of my long absences! it really means a lot to me that so many of you are so very patient and kind in leaving me such thoughtful, encouraging messages. i really only do this for fun but it means a hundred times more to have such wonderful support for something i like to do in my free time, so thank you <3
> 
> also **please read** the note at the end for a _very_ special announcement in the ShikaTema community! 
> 
> without further ado, here is nearly 10k of wholesomeness for you all 
> 
> enjoy-

**“growing on you” – the story so far**  
.  
_“i need no shade,_  
 _i’m tried and true,_  
 _but i’m lonely like you,_  
 _i’m growing on you_ ”  
. 

“Temari,” he said, feeling out the syllables in his mouth. His own voice was nearly silent to himself over his rapid fire heartbeat that boomed like a drum in his ears.

“Yes,” she responded, confirming her existence to him. Allowing him to believe that she was, in fact, real.

He attempted to swallow the heartbeats that threatened to leap out from the back of his throat. “Shikamaru. I’m Shikamaru.”

There was a quietness that blanketed over them like the first snow of the season, bringing with it the chill of a deep fear revealed. He clapped a hand over his mouth in a meek effort to stop the shaking of his body, trying to understand the weight of her name and her fears that hung in the air.

And then he remembered his own name that hung there with hers, making _him_ as real to her as she was to him.

He didn’t have many thoughts on his name, not really, not at all—it was just his name, the one bestowed upon him by his absurdly creative father and clan’s custom. He was a Shika _maru_ after a Shika _ku_ after a Shika _ne_ and so on and so forth. He was expected as the next Nara clan head to someday burden his first born child (preferably a son, by his painfully traditional family’s standards) with some sort of variation of his own name. There would be a Shika after him, just as there would be an Ino after Ino, and a Chou after Chouji. Plain, and simple. Nothing to ever think more than a fraction of a second about besides in saying, which itself was automatic.

But, when she said his name—when her voice molded around the excessive four syllables of his excessively customary name, a million thoughts ran through his mind as if in a footrace with his heartrate.

“Shikamaru,” she said.

He’d heard his name be said hundreds of thousands of times before since he had been born, over the course of twenty-five years and nine months by tens of hundreds of people. It shouldn’t have made him feel the way it did, but _it did._

He didn’t have much thoughts on his name, not really, not at all but hearing it be brought to life by her voice made it sound much more special than he thought it wasn’t. A Shikamaru after a Shikaku after a Shikane after god fucking knows how many generations of Shika’s; so so so painfully uniform and yet she had made it sound special.

 _She_ , he thought. _Temari, Temari, Temari._

“It’s, uh—it’s nice to finally meet you,” he said stupidly because he was truly just so intelligent when it came to densely somber situations such as these. A sudden urge to climb over the edge of the railing came to him until she breathed a laugh.

It eased into something heartier, something comforting and genuine. The sound he had grown to _need_ to hear as the nights when on, after he had been enchanted by the sound of her voice. The sound he felt compelled to bring forth with his shitty jokes and poorly timed sentences. It was a welcomed sound and mended the tear he had felt deep at her choked sobs.

“You too,” she responded after catching her breath. “Except we haven’t actually—”

Her voice trailed off enough to allow him to interject. “I know. I just—now you have a name.”

“I’ve always had a name,” she pointed out, returning to the easiness of conversation he was familiar with.

“I know,” he said again. “But I didn’t know it.”

“You never asked,” she responded, almost wistfully. Was that to suggest she had wished he did? His head was swimming, and he wasn’t sure if from the alcohol or overwhelming realization of her _name_. He had a feeling he would be thinking about that for a long while.

“You never asked either,” he retorted, with a lightness he hoped she understood.

She made a noise in her throat akin to a laugh and he imagined what her flustered smile would look like. “No—no. I didn’t, no. It was just—it was just safer that way.”

“Safer?” He echoed, the word resonating with him. He could recall a time a similar thought had crept its way through his mind; something along the lines of talking to nothing, wasn’t it? He closed his eyes to centralize his thoughts, trying to remember.  

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s just—you don’t know me, like anyone from home would or like my friend would. So, it’s just _safer_ to dump all my shit and baggage and there’s no judgement, and it’s like—it’s like talking to… fuck, like—”

“The void,” he said. “Like talking to the void.”

“Yes!” She exclaimed, the excitement in her voice stirring something in his belly that he was sure wasn’t just alcohol. “Talking to the void, yes, exactly!”

He sputtered out a laugh, and pressed the heels of his hands hard to his eyes until stars speckled against the backdrop of his eyelids. “I’m—fuck. Sorry, I just—I had the same thought a while ago and—”

She was laughing again, the kind of uncontrollable drunk laughter that reminded him too much of Ino’s post-cry laughs that came at any and all instances of conversation. He didn’t know (nor did he _want_ to know) whether the laugh was to just humor him or if it was genuine, but he didn’t really know much of anything when he was drunk. All he knew was that it was good to hear her laugh.

“Isn’t that funny?” She asked as she alternated between gasps of air and laughter. “How we just come to the same conclusion and we don’t even _know_ each other?” 

“Are you sure about that Miss Mint Chip Ice Cream at four a.m.?” He countered much too confidently. Another thing sober-him would be upset about in approximately seven hours. Maybe if he threw back a couple of more shots and dug himself deeper into the hole of inebriation there wouldn’t be anything for sober Shikamaru to remember and be mad about. He nodded to himself, considering his genius in the moment.

“Okay,” she dragged the word out with a jokingly annoyed lilt. “You know me but, you don’t _know_ me.” 

 _I’d like to,_ he thought, but hastily bit his tongue. Instead, he agreed, “Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t want to,” she continued, her voice becoming faraway as if she were speaking to herself again.

“I don’t think that’s true,” he responded, reaching for a cigarette. “If it were, I wouldn’t have wrecked my entire sleep cycle just to sit out here.”

“Who’s to say it wasn’t already wrecked?”

He clicked his tongue as he snapped his lighter shut. “And you said we don’t know each other.”

That elicited another laugh and coaxed a smile out of him. He sighed the drag he took, and shook his head. “But, really. Not true.” _Not even remotely._

“Thanks,” she said almost sheepishly. “I appreciate it. Also—I’m uh, I’m sorry about… all of that. It was a lot.”

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t be sorry about that. If anyone has to be sorry, it should be me for even bringing it all up.”

In drunken retrospect, the wise thing would have been to keep his big stupid mouth shut to have avoided all of that in the first place, but drunk Shikamaru was incapable of following his own directions. It was a tricky situation to be in—to be privy to such knowledge that he knew brought them closer together (whatever the fuck that meant in that context) but at the cost of uncovering what he knew were painful and hard memories. He could not justify relishing in the comforting feeling he felt knowing that she had thought the same things of him as he did of her, only at the expense of having her unleash her fears.

“I’m sorry,” he said again as the thoughts hung in his mind. “I’m really sorry. For everything.” 

_Your mom, your dad, your brothers, that this shitty city won’t recognize what you’re worth._

“No, no—” she began but he was quick to interrupt. 

“We’re not doing this again,” he said jokingly though with enough heaviness to ensure that he was serious. “You don’t have to be sorry for any of that. Really.”

“Okay,” she said after a long moment of contemplative silence. “Okay. Thanks for that.”

“Course,” he responded, fumbling with the cigarette between his lips as he ran his fingers through his hair again. “And, uh, I meant it, by the way. All that stuff about you being really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said with a definite nod. There was no going back; once the gates were opened (or broken, in that case), the flood could not be stopped. And he wasn’t going to take it back—not that there was anything to take back in the first place because it was all true. Did he want to have admitted it then? Probably not, because doing such things were embarrassing and made him feel kind of weird but it was good that he did. She needed to hear it, he realized, and he’d say it again and again if it meant that much.

Which, again, happened to be the thought process of an inebriated Shikamaru who gave no regard for his sober self’s need to avoid feelings of weirdness and embarrassment. It wasn’t that he _didn’t_ want to tell her, but it was more of a matter of having to work his way up to do so. It was one thing to say such things to people he _really_ knew, but to admit something like that to someone he was only getting to know? It was weird.

“Thanks,” Temari finally said, interrupting his tangled thoughts. “That really—it means a lot. It really does.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “And I meant it that you’ll find a place or venue or whatever that’ll book you. There are a lot here—it’s just a matter of time.” 

“I know,” she responded with a tired voice, releasing a sigh. “I’m just—I guess I’m just very impatient.”

There was a laugh tacked on the end of her sentence, an attempt at making light of what he could understand was real and tangible frustration. Her fingers picked gently against the strings of her guitar, nonsense noise in the night that still sounded like music to his ears.

“Hey,” he said squishing the butt of his cigarette against the glass ashtray. “I know _shit_ about music and booking and—I probably sound pretentious trying to preach to you of all people and I shouldn’t but anybody who turned you down probably sucks and is incapable of recognizing real talent even when she walks right through the door.

And I’m just some over-caffeinated, chain-smoking, drunk asshole but I think you’re amazing and I feel like shit knowing that there are people out there making you feel discouraged from your dream because you really are amazing and I’m so sorry that I am talking so much and I should _stop_ now before I embarrass the both of us more.”

Sober Shikamaru was going to have a field day with the mental reprimanding of drunk Shikamaru.

He slapped his hands over his mouth again, hearing clear as day the repeat of Ino’s shrill yelling in his ears about never being able to keep his big fucking mouth shut when he was drunk. What was it about alcohol that made it so hard for him to keep his thoughts to himself? He racked his brain trying to remember an instance in which he did something similar in the past, but he was grasping at straws. He wasn’t usually like this, not really because there wasn’t ever much to say about anything unless it was about Naruto and his stupid fox socks. 

It was the night air, he concluded. It had to be the night air. He never sat outside that drunk at night for that long—there had to be something in the air that made him feel so compelled to share every thought he ever had with somebody who he was sure felt uncomfortable with his rambling.

Too much was happening in the short span of their talk and he wasn’t even in a good enough headspace to register all of it properly.

“You’re not an asshole,” Temari said, carving a joking curve into her words. He closed his eyes and imagined she was smiling. “But that was the most I’ve ever heard you say in like one breath so you must really be drunk.”

“Guilty as charged,” he mumbled. 

“You are really nice—”

“My friends would disagree,” he piped up, sinking further into the ground of his balcony. The cold metal against his hot neck felt like the mental bar he’d be beating himself with in the morning.

She laughed before continuing, “You’re nice, when you don’t have to be—when you never had to be. This could have ended up a lot of different ways and I—I never expected making friends with somebody who lived above me… and I guess—thank you. Thank you for liking my music and being nice and believing in me, and now we’re even with the talking too much.”

“We’re friends?” He managed intelligently.

“Well, yeah,” Temari said as a matter-of-fact. “The fuck else would we be?”

“You make a compelling argument,” he responded, rubbing his chin. She laughed at that and it did nothing to calm any of the nerves that rattled in his body at the answer to of all the unanswered questions he had kept harbored in his big head the past month.

“Officially friends,” she said. “Since we know each other’s names now.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But, I’m glad my babbling means a lot because it’s true.”

“Should I be concerned that you’ve only said all of this drunk?” She asked jokingly.

“Liquid courage makes me more ballsy,” he admitted. “I know I’m telling the truth though, so it’s on you if you believe me.”

“Damn,” she said. “This got real deep real quick.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, you’re telling me.”

They sighed together at the same time before lapsing into another silence. The blaring bright screen of his phone informed him that it was half past one, the amount of time that had passed frightening him. Their talk felt like it had lasted no longer than ten minutes but his mind always seemed to travel three times as fast when he was not sober.

“I believe you,” she said at last. He nodded and closed his eyes, feeling warmth despite the cold summer breeze that cut through him.

“And I believe you.”

“I’m glad we’re at a mutual understanding here,” Temari said.

He chuckled, eyes still closed as he nodded again. “Me too. Clarity is good." 

“The fog has been cleared,” she humored him.

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “But a new one is taking me over now and I would stay out here as long as you’d like if not for my need to sleep this drunk off.”

She laughed. “Go to bed, Shikamaru.”

“Yes,” he said because he, as always, did as he was told. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” 

Asking made him nervous—he didn’t know what it would be like after that (and when he was fucking SOBER!!) but he needed that confirmation that at least their talks wouldn’t change. Everything else was different, sure, but the constancy that he had grown accustomed to couldn’t change. He was selfish that way.

“Do you even have to ask?” She countered teasingly.

It was his turn to laugh, mostly at his own absurdity. “No. When you say it that way, I guess not.”

“Glad you picked up on that,” she said. He could hear again the smile in her voice. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Shikamaru." 

“You too. Have a good night, Temari.”

* * *

 

“Shikamaru, what do you want to drink?”

“Ma,” he groaned as he closed his eyes and pressed two fingers to his temple. “Please don’t yell.”

“Oh,” his mother said with a hint of amusement, holding a hand to the side of her mouth. “He’s hungover. Just give him a triple shot over ice.”

Deibu’s laugh sounded like a helicopter taking off overhead as he rang up their order while the lights of the small shop had him feeling as if the sun itself was boring right into his eyes. He was never drinking ever again. 

His mother laughed right in his face when he told her as much. 

“You said that after your twentieth birthday, if I can recall correctly,” she said, handing him his cup. “And after Ino’s, and Chouji’s, and Naruto’s, and—”

“Okay,” he interjected, scowling. “I get it. You’re making fun of me.” 

“I am _just_ saying,” his mother shrugged at him, “you say it often and yet you continue to ruin the liver I spent nine crucial months creating for you.” 

“Drinking is a learning curve,” he said. “And I happen to be a slow learner.”

“So it seems,” she retorted. “But maybe not too slow for law school?”

“Ha,” he barked humorlessly, raising an eyebrow at his mother. “Cause of death for Nara Shikamaru would be ‘law school induced alcohol poisoning.’ If anything, my slow learning is saving the liver you bestowed upon me by not going to Konohagakure Law.”

“It was worth a try,” his mother sighed, dejected. 

She had been fruitlessly trying to convince him to reconsider his decision not to go to law school ever since he had dropped the bomb years ago. Of course, his learning was not slow but more so his _enjoyment_ for learning. School content had always come easy to him and he would have been valedictorian of both his high school and college classes had it not been for his inability to give a whole fuck about doing well academically.

He had done the bare minimum in order to literally scrape by, much to the horror of his mother who had excelled during her school years; though his lack of academic drive was no surprise to his father, who himself hadn’t done much until law school. They were Nara after all.

“They should be here any second,” his mother informed him, shifting her purse at the bend of her arm. “Hopefully Mirai won’t exacerbate your hangover.”

“Oh, she will,” he deadpanned. “But I’m good at pretending.”

“How many of your interactions with her are pretending?” She asked him with pursed lips, a jokingly accusing look in her eyes.

“Not many, actually,” he confessed wholeheartedly. “She makes it easy.” 

His mother smiled fondly at him as she patted his arm. “What a pair you two are. Makes me regret not giving you a sibling.”

He scoffed. “No, no, you misunderstand, Ma. _Mirai_ herself makes it easy; there is no guarantee I’d treat a younger sibling the same way.”

That elicited a laugh from his mother, the warmth of it overpowering the loudness that hurt his head. “You don’t know that.”

He shrugged as he said, “I’m pretty sure I’d be an asshole.”

“You _think_ so, but I know you wouldn’t be,” she countered. “And I know because I’m your mother; you have an awfully big heart.” 

Shikamaru grimaced at the sudden burst of affection his mother dealt him; it was not often she openly said nice things to him, in public no less. Taking a step back, he pointed at his mother’s cup as he asked Deibu, “What’d you put in her coffee?”

“Oh, stop,” she waved a hand at him. “You and I both know you’re much kinder than you lead on. Remember when you picked Asuma up on the highway after his car broke down some years ago?” 

“That’s because you _made_ me,” he grumbled. 

His mother’s fondness for his so-called big heart reminded him of Temari’s acknowledgement from the night before (a thought that still had his blood simmering and coloring his face red from embarrassment). He wasn’t rude by any means, but he wasn’t nice either. At least he didn’t think so. He never thought of himself as kind, or even welcoming to any degree—he had always attributed any sort of kindness perceived by others as a result of his strict sense of honesty and ability to say shit how it was. He did things because he calculated them as being the right things to do, and said things that he saw as important and relevant enough to be said. If anybody thought he was nice, he was content with that given that he didn’t ever go out of his way to be particularly nice.

He _liked_ to think that he didn’t go out of his way to be nice, but of course, his personal ideology came to butt heads with the actions of his drunk self who had carelessly spilled words of pure adoration onto his balcony and down one floor.

He insisted he was being honest – _because he was_ – but she insisted on his kindness, which was only ever commented on by his mother. And it felt different to be called nice by somebody who knew him but didn’t actually. He didn’t care if people thought he was kind because he didn’t ever _try_ being kind (he was just honest!) and it wasn’t often that anybody ever called him nice or kind—if anything, his friends often commented on his lackluster voice that prefaced his apparent inability to say or do purposefully _nice_ things. 

But it was different with Temari, as any and everything often was with her. He suddenly cared whether she thought he was nice, when the thought hadn’t previously crossed his mind with anybody else, and it meant almost as much as it did when his mother said so (but, he wouldn’t ever admit that to her, obviously to annoy her). It meant something special, like the way she said his name, and the way her laughter was breathless and effortlessly given to him after his attempts at being funny.

“Shikamaru!!” A familiarly small voice called at the same moment a matching small body collided with his legs, nearly knocking him over.

“Hi, Mirai,” he said, instinctively placing his free hand onto the top of her head. Hair as unruly as ever, she titled her head back to beam at him with her notoriously big, red eyes. 

“Good morning,” Kurenai greeted with a gentle wave. She carried with her a purse and a small, pink backpack that undoubtedly belonged to Mirai. He suspected it was filled with an assortment of toys and colored pencils as her bags often were.

“How is everybody?” She asked. 

“Alive,” he said monotonously as he attempted to maneuver his straw towards his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his mother mouthed _hungover_ to Kurenai who gave an amused sigh of recognition.

“The sun is awfully bright out today,” Kurenai said, waggling an eyebrow at him. “You sure you can handle it bare-eyed?”

“Oh trust me,” Shikamaru continued in his flat-lined voice, “the walk here was brutal on top of the birds chirping. I felt like my head was going to explode.”

Kurenai laughed and narrowed her eyes at him in mock accusation. “See, when you say it like that, I can’t tell if you’re being serious or dramatic.”

“Am I not allowed to be dramatic and serious at the same time?” He countered, drawing more laughter from Kurenai and his mother.

“Are you okay, Shikamaru?” Mirai asked seriously, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Mama, is Shikamaru sick?”

“He’s fine,” Kurenai answered, bending down to wipe away a smudge on her cheek. “Just tired, right, Shikamaru?” 

“Tired, yeah,” he agreed. He knocked the tip of his shoe against Mirai’s significantly smaller one as he continued, “You don’t have to worry about me, peanut.”

“Yes,” her mother chirped. “Shikamaru is a big boy and it takes a lot to knock him down.”

“I don’t know about that but sure,” he grimaced as he took another sip of his coffee.

“Knock him down?” Mirai echoed, holding Kurenai’s hand as his mother began ushering them down the street. “Is it because he’s tall?”

“Yes, honey,” Kurenai answered. “But it also means he’s tough, and things don’t bother him or make him upset as easy.”

Shikamaru sucked his teeth and shot Kurenai a questioning look. “Debatable, but again, sure.”

That hadn’t stopped Mirai’s eyes from glowing, however, as she looked between him and her mother. “I wanna be just like Shikamaru!”

“Oh, peanut,” he bemoaned. “What a horrible aspiration.”

His mother nudged him in the rib, sending the black coffee in his empty belly sloshing uncomfortably.

“What’s an aspayshun?” 

“A dream,” her mother said. “You really want to be like Shikamaru?”

“Yup,” Mirai answered with a definite nod. “I’m already half way there because I have black hair too! And when it’s cold outside I can blow smoke from my mouth just like him!”

“You’re never blowing smoke from your mouth,” Shikamaru said immediately. “It’s bad for you.”

“But why do you do it?” Mirai asked him curiously. 

“Because I’m not very smart,” Shikamaru admitted, dodging the heated stare of his mother.

She had always berated him for his constant smoking, a horrible habit he learned after spending so much time with Asuma. She reprimanded him for still doing so even after Asuma had quit at the birth of Mirai, but bad habits were hard to quit when he was addicted to routine.

“But you know how to count all the way to sixty-five,” Mirai argued with a pout, “and how to drive a car. That makes you _very_ smart.”

“I’m glad you think so, peanut,” he said, ruffling one of her pigtails. “You’ll be smarter than me someday, though.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Mirai grinned at him and let her mother’s hand go as she skipped forward along the street. Her childish energy had soothed the dull ache of his hangover and brought him a little more to life despite his insistence of not ever being alive before eight in the morning. It had always been the little things that reminded him of the light Mirai brought, and the effect she had on his mood. He wasn’t a big fan of kids, with all the yelling and occasional meanness and annoying questions (which, mind you, he _knew_ wasn’t _really_ their fault but he could only take so much, okay?) but as he had told his mother, Mirai made it easy. 

She was too clever and mischievous for her own good, having played too many pranks on him, but Shikamaru could never stay mad at her. She also happened to be wise beyond her six and a half years, something he attributed to the fact that Kurenai spent much of her pregnancy reading about various psychological concepts to an unborn Mirai. He often found himself looking to Mirai for sage advice in his darkest times, much to the humor of his friends.

As Mirai continued skipping towards the crosswalk, he noticed too late the mismatched concrete to call out to her to be careful. It took just a fraction of a second and being approximately three centimeters off from the drop for her to miss the ledge and fall knees first against the gritty concrete. 

“Oh baby, no,” Kurenai gasped as she rushed towards where Mirai landed.

Even from the distance between them, he was certain Mirai was teary-eyed from the skinned knee she received.

“Mirai,” he called as he and his mother approached. “Are you okay?”

Her lip quivered as the tears she desperately tried holding back begin to spill, her mother cooing with a hand at the back of her head. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. Does it hurt a lot?”

The look of the skinned knee was enough to pain Shikamaru as it bled profusely down her leg and onto the concrete. It proved to be one of the more gruesome skinned knees Mirai received given her reaction of stifled sobbing and red, blotchy face.

“Oh dear,” his mother said while rummaging through her purse. “I don’t have any band-aids. Do you Kurenai?”

“I usually do,” Kurenai said as she pulled napkins from her bag, dabbing gently at the wound. “But I left them in my other purse.” 

“Deibu’s got band-aids,” Shikamaru said, a thumb over his shoulder pointing in the direction they had come from. He only knew from the experience he had sliced a finger open attempting to put lid over his cup just to find it was sharper than a knife. 

“Oh good,” Kurenai said as she balled up the bloodied napkins. “Can you walk, Mirai?”

“No,” Mirai mumbled. “I want papa.”

“Oh honey,” Kurenai wiped away a tear that ran down her daughter’s face. “We can see papa soon but you need to band-aid. Can you stand up for mama?”

“Hey,” Shikamaru said, placing a hand gently on Kurenai’s shoulder. “It’s all right, I got her.”

Mirai’s sniffling paused as he handed his coffee to his mother then knelt beside her and Kurenai. 

“C’mon here, peanut,” he instructed, motioning for her to crawl onto his back like the little monkey her father referred to her as. Even as she grew older, Mirai loved being carried around whether that was by himself or her father. He also knew that as she grew older, she was getting bigger and that the only people who could ever carry happened to be himself or her father.

With Mirai as precious cargo attached securely to his back, he stood to full height and realized in that moment he should start going to the gym again, or take some sort of vitamin supplement. There was no fucking way his knees and back should feel the way they did at the tender age of twenty-five carrying sixty-five pounds. 

“You guys can go on ahead to the market,” Shikamaru said, carefully ensuring that Mirai’s scraped knee wouldn’t catch the fabric of his shirt. “We’ll catch up after we get a hot cocoa.” 

Kurenai smiled at the note of the cocoa as she reached out to tuck a stray hair behind Mirai’s ear. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Will you be okay without me, Mirai?”

Mirai nodded silently against his shoulder, still sniffling while she tightened the grip she had around his neck. He nodded himself and said, “Yeah, I’ve got her.” 

“Okay,” Kurenai acquiesced. “Call me if you need anything.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Shikamaru answered as he turned in the direction of Deibu’s. 

They walked along the street in the white hot sunlight for a moment before he could feel the sweat accumulate along his neck and down his back. Carrying Mirai did nothing to help slow down the monsoon that was growing, but he knew he couldn’t complain when he wasn’t the one with a horribly skinned knee.

The air conditioning of Deibu’s little storefront was a godsend as it sent a chill down his grossly slick back. The chatter from the few patrons that occupied the small space caught Mirai’s attention as she looked around, her rough-spun hair tickling the back of his neck.

“Oh,” Deibu said. “Shikamaru, back so soon?”

“Yup,” Shikamaru responded, shuffling towards the counter. “Resident caffeine addict returns to get his fix.”

Deibu laughed, “I see you’ve brought a little one with you this time.” 

“Yeah, about that,” Shikamaru drawled. “She skinned her knee. Can we get some band-aids and maybe a wet paper towel?”

“Oh no,” Deibu said with a lilt of concern, finally noticing the tiny, bloodied knee held by his arm. “Of course, of course. Give me a moment.”  

He disappeared around the bend towards the backroom, the sound of his shoes against the tiles fading the farther back he went.

“How you holding up, peanut?” Shikamaru asked, giving Mirai a slight bounce.

“It still hurts,” Mirai replied with a slight quiver in her voice.

“Yeah, I bet,” he said. “You took a pretty big fall.” 

Deibu reappeared at that moment with a damp napkin and a handful of band-aids. Shikamaru glanced around the store for the nearest chair as Deibu caught on to his search, coming from behind the counter to pull one out.

“Gonna put you down now,” Shikamaru announced. “Is that okay?”

Mirai nodded slightly and stiffened as he placed her carefully onto the chair that Deibu had pulled out. He took the cleanup materials Deibu handed him and ungracefully lowered himself to one knee. Up close, the dried up blood and patchy pieces of rubbed away flesh made him queasy. Shikamaru never had a strong stomach for the sight of blood and the heightened exposure to it thanks to one Mirai did not make it any easier to look at.

“Hey, peanut,” he said, gaining her attention. “I’ve gotta clean this a bit but it’s gonna hurt. Can you count to twenty for me?”

Mirai’s lip began to quiver again and her big eyes grew watery but she complied nevertheless, counting off the numbers in the same time it took for him to quickly dab the wound. In one swift move, he applied the band-aid to the tender spot on her knee. 

“All done,” Shikamaru announced. “Does it feel okay? Can you bend your leg?”

Mirai gave her leg a little shake but winced at the tightness of the dried over blood at the bend of her knee. “Not really.”

“That’s okay for now,” Shikamaru said. “I’m gonna go get you a hot cocoa now, all right?”

“Shikamaru?” Mirai called as he began walked towards the counter again.

“Yes?” 

“I don’t want a hot cocoa,” she mumbled, looking at her bandaged knee. “It’s too hot outside for one.”

“As it should be, yes,” Shikamaru said. “How about a cup of the cream that comes on top, huh?”

Mirai perked up at that suggestion, looking at him with wide eyes as if she had momentarily forgotten her skinned knee. “Can I?”

He shrugged. “Course you can. I won’t say anything to your ma if you don’t.”

She grinned for the first time after her fall, raising a finger to her lips as a sign of a sworn secret. He mirrored the image and headed towards the counter.

Deibu had graciously allowed Mirai a cup of whipped cream on the house for toughing out the brutal wound she received, though she was skeptical when Shikamaru told her as much. 

“Am I really tough?” Mirai asked as she scooped another spoonful of the cream into her mouth. She was freely swinging her legs from the chair, the sweetness of the whipped cream acting as a pain reliever for her tiny body.

“Yeah,” he reassured. “Real tough. Remember the last time you fell? You cried a lot then and this time you didn’t cry as much even though this scrape’s a lot worse.” 

She assessed that comparison with a thoughtful look before giving him a stern nod in agreement. “Does that mean I’m gonna be tough like you? Because you don’t cry a lot ever.” 

“Sure,” he allowed. “But that’s not all tough being is. You cry if you got to cry when it hurts. What being tough means is knowing how to say when something hurts. You get it?” 

“Like when papa drops a bag of beans on his toes and says bad words after mama asks if he’s okay?” Mirai asked contemplatively.

“Sort of,” Shikamaru said, wiping up the melted whipped cream along the side of the cup. “If it really hurts, you can say so and that’s more tough than lying and saying it’s okay.” 

“People lie about being hurt?” Mirai asked. “Why would they do that?”

“Because they don’t want other people to think they got hurt,” Shikamaru explained as plainly as he could. “And everyone thinks that people who don’t get hurt are tough. But that’s not true, you understand? If you’re hurt, you can tell your ma, or your dad, or me.” 

He could see the little gears in her head turn as she stared into her near-empty cup of whipped cream, taking in the information he presented to her as deep as her six years of higher cognitive functioning could allow her. 

“Okay,” she finally agreed, giving him an approving smile. “Can we go see mama now?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking the cup from her. “Let’s go. But remember, you had a hot cocoa.”

“I had a hot cocoa,” Mirai parroted, hopping from her seat onto the ground.

As they exited Deibu’s store hand in hand, he narrowly missed throwing the door into an unsuspecting passerby.

“Oh shit,” he sputtered. “I’m sorr—” 

The words died in his throat as he realized who had nearly gotten a face-full of door courtesy of him— the unmistakable hair of spun gold and the piercing blue-green eyes that sent his heart into overdrive, his tongue falling straight out of his fucking mouth.

He couldn’t register anything that was happening around him (which seemed to be a pattern when she was around once he thought about it hard enough) except for the tiny hand in his own. She was on the phone travelling in the opposite direction as they were. He watched as her mouth moved soundlessly into the receiver, and then her eyes that kept his gaze despite the fact that she _should have_ been looking forward to avoid what she had just avoided forty-five seconds ago.

She didn’t look angry or annoyed, not like the first time he had met her when he “messed up her order” (which, as he would stubbornly have you know, was still not his fault!) but she was instead surprised.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about their déjà vu-like meetings and the way they made his insides feel; their chance run-ins leaving his head swimming and his eyesight blurring from the brightness of her hair against the sun and the light that shimmered in her eyes and— _wait a fucking minute_ he was still hungover. 

And maybe it was the hangover that had him imagining things in desert-dehydration mirage fashion as he watched her raise a hand and gave him a wave, like they were friends—like they knew each other and weren’t two ghosts always passing by with just a hair’s distance between them. Close but never touching. And maybe he was still imagining it when he thought he saw her smile briefly as he meekly raised a hand to wave back because that was what good sons raised by good mothers did. They waved back, when waved to.

But _then_ he thought (with his dried up, hangover-induced shriveled raisin for a brain) that she was just being polite. Because that was what good people with kindness in their eyes did. They waved, when almost getting the absolute shit smacked out of them via glass door pushed by a hopeless idiot just to say, silently, that _it’s okay._ They waved and smiled at the farmer’s market, and at the diner, and down the street, to the weird guy that happened to always be staring.

It was too many times to be coincidence at that point, he knew that, but he didn’t know what it meant—or if it meant anything at all. The city was big and even as a creature of habit, he had always thought his footpath through it was too particular to pass the same stranger two, three, four times.

It was a distant daydream but he thought that maybe next time he would react faster and ask her her name and grow up a little instead of acting like a fish out of water every time he saw her. He’d make a move and do something (even in spite of the Redheaded Companion he knew she had) because she was growing to be too much for him to pass up every single time they were within arm’s reach and sharing glances that were too deep to just be shallow.

He was shocked back into reality at the tug of his arm and the faraway sound of Mirai’s voice, forcing him to shake his head and remember that he was standing in the doorway of a coffee shop like some dumbass.

“What, Mirai?” He asked, unsure of what she had said to him.

“She’s pretty,” Mirai repeated, referring to the Bothersome Blonde that continued towards the horizon like a sunray.

“Yeah,” he agreed against his better judgement as he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah, she is.” 

As they finally stepped out from Deibu’s shop and began down the street towards the market, he glanced over his shoulder once last time.

He would have sworn on his life that she had done the same.

* * *

“Hey,” he said as he stepped out onto his balcony with a plate of sliced apples and a mug of water. The cigarettes and lighter he drunkenly forgotten were where he had last left them, almost like an outline of where he was hunched over just twenty-four hours before.

“Hey,” Temari said, setting her guitar down softly. “How are you?”

His heart should not have been beating as fast as it was because there wasn’t anything to be nervous about (except for the fact that the voice from one floor below finally had a name and a lot of familial turmoil and self-imposed expectations but it was _fine_ ). He was grateful for once that she couldn’t see him. He knew that his face was as flushed as it had been last night; the only difference being he had completely sworn off alcohol then (at least until next weekend).

“I’m good,” he managed weakly. He took a bite of an apple to settle his nerves and asked her the same.

“Doing all right,” she answered. “I spent all day scouring the city for other places to get booked.”

“How’d it go?”

“It was okay,” she said. “I did a _lot_ of walking so I’m sure I’ll be feeling that in the morning.”

“That’s how I feel whenever the fucking elevator goes out and I have to climb all eight flights of stairs,” he said bitterly.

“God,” Temari laughed. “Remember when I said working out was part of a healthy lifestyle?”

“Hey,” he snapped defensively despite the grin on his face. “Even if I did go to the gym, that wouldn’t make going up eight flights any easier. It’s too hard on my old man knees.” 

“Old man knees,” she repeated incredulously. “You’re twenty-five.” 

“Tell me,” he began, biting into another piece of apple. “Your knees ever hurt or your ankles pop when you’re going up the stairs?”

There was a moment of silence before Temari responded, “I’m not going to answer that.”

“That’s because it _does_ happen,” he said with an air of smugness. 

“I just don’t want to give you the satisfaction of being right,” she shot back lightheartedly.

“Oh, that’s cold,” he feigned offense. “Even after all the times I gave you city advice.”

“That doesn’t warrant satisfaction,” she continued and he was sure then that he could hear the smirk in her voice. “Just gratitude.”

The easiness of their conversation seemed to have soothed his nerves with the back-and-forth they slipped into. It was the familiar sense of calm he was used too; the type brought upon by the sound of her voice that he had grown to crave and had replaced his fondness for the nighttime silence. It reminded him that he was being a fool and that there was nothing to be nervous about when it came to Temari.

At that moment amidst their silence, she laughed as if she had read his mind and knew something he didn’t.

He wrinkled his nose as he said, “I’m glad you think I’m that funny.”

“Oh my god, I’m—” she choked out between laughs. “I’m sorry it’s— I think Gaara broke the news about this guy he’s seeing to Kankurou and he just texted me, and his reaction is _killing_ me.”

“This is the dude with the eyebrows, yeah?”

“Yes,” she wheezed. “I think Kankurou’s mortified. He goes, ‘I don’t give a fuck if Gaara’s gay but so help me god it can’t be this guy.’”

“Jeez,” Shikamaru breathed, grinning in response to her laughter. “That’s rough. Is he really that bad looking?”

“It’s not that he’s bad looking,” Temari explained as she continued to catch her breath, her fingers tapping away at the screen of her phone acting as background noise. “He’s like pretty cute, I guess. I think Kankurou’s just confused by the bowl cut and block eyebrows.”

Shikamaru grunted as he attempted to piece together that image and finally grimaced when what mentally materialized eerily reminded him of a sentient watermelon Mirai had drawn for him once. 

“I don’t know, Temari,” he said (using the moment as an excuse to say her name), “that sounds pretty bad.”

“Okay, in _theory_ it sounds bad, but he really pulls it off. Green tracksuit and all,” she said in the mystery man’s defense.

He groaned at the added detail of _green tracksuit._ “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Nope,” she responded with a pop of the _p._ “Not giving you that satisfaction either.”

“Brutal, you’re brutal,” he bemoaned melodramatically in a mismatched dry tone, accentuating the lightheartedness he intended.

Temari laughed in response, prompting some sort of warmth he figured was cigarette smoke killing his lungs to bloom in his chest.

“I think Gaara really likes him though,” she continued. “I didn’t think they’d make it official or even try long-distance after knowing each other for like a month or whatever." 

“That’s good that they’re giving it a try though,” Shikamaru responded as he lit a cigarette.

“Yeah,” she said after a brief, uncertain pause. “Yeah. He seems really nice and considerate—like Gaara told me he bought him a monthly cacti subscription.”

“Wow. That’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, I know,” Temari agreed though with the same breath of hesitancy as a moment before.

“You sound concerned,” he noted with furrowed brows as he tapped the ash from his cigarette into the tray balanced on the railing of his balcony.

“I mean, yeah,” she confessed. “That’s my baby brother and as far as I know, his first boyfriend. I told you Gaara hasn’t had, uh, the best of luck with people—not just guys, but like in general. He’s um, he’s always been very quiet and kept to himself so I guess I’m just nervous for him.”

He wasn’t sure of what to say in response to that due to the fact that he had no younger siblings to fret over. The closest people to siblings he had were Ino and Chouji of course, but both were somewhat rational adults with relatively tame tastes in people that he hadn’t felt an instinctual need to worry about whether their relationships would end up in flames. He was sure once Mirai was at the age to start considering boys _cute_ and not disgusting, cootie-ridden creatures he would be in a never-ending overprotective panic mode just as Asuma would be, but that too was more paternal than it was overprotection for a sibling. 

He knew that the feeling of protection siblings had for each other was much different than that of a caretaker close to a family and even that of a parent; a fierce, unspoken devotion to keeping each other out of harm’s way whatever it decided to manifest itself as that he knew he would never really understand.

“As you should be,” he said carefully. “Since you don’t know the guy, you know?”

“Yeah,” Temari said. “He really _does_ seem nice and I’m glad he’s paying attention to what Gaara says and stuff. I think I’m just more nervous about the whole long distance thing. I could never.”

He didn’t know Temari as well as he knew Chouji or Ino or even Naruto, not remotely—but that little fact had him raising an eyebrow, stirring curiosity in the pit of his belly at the unexpectedness of it.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she laughed. “I think I’m—I’m uh, little too selfish for that. If I’m with somebody, I want to be with them and have them close.”

He pondered that for a moment and nodded. “That’s fair. So you’d never try?”

 “No, I don’t think so,” she responded after thinking on it. “My ex-boyfriend from ages ago asked me if I’d be willing when he was offered a job a state over and I said no.” 

“Was that why you guys broke up?” He asked with a sudden interest at the mention of an ex-boyfriend. He felt embarrassed asking as indicated by the hotness on his face being exaggerated by the cool summer air.

“No,” Temari answered immediately. “He was pretty superficial and couldn’t remember my birthday even after five years of being friends on top of two years of dating so I told him to pack his shit and never show his face again.”

“He sounds like a piece of shit,” he commented. “And you put up with that for two years?” 

“Unfortunately,” she sighed. “It’s not something I’m proud of but I was pretty naïve when I was young so it was what it was.” 

“Yeah I know how that feels,” he said remembering the time he had spent with Shiho years ago; it sent a chill down his spine. 

“Bad ex too?" 

“Bad is an understatement,” he drawled. “She was crazy—and I understand the misogynistic undertones of referring to an ex-girlfriend as _crazy_ but she was literally off her shits.”

Temari laughed. “You have my attention.”

“She was obsessed with me,” he recalled. “But not in the good, cute way. Like, always had to be at my house or with me during class. She wanted to know where I was and who I was with at every second of the day. It drove me and all of my friends insane.”  
  
“And you dated her for how long?”

“A year and a half,” he admitted sheepishly. Ino and Chouji still gave him shit for the social hell he had put them through by dating Shiho. 

“And you put up with that for a year and a half?” Temari asked him in a tone similar to when he had asked her the same.

He shook his head in a feeble attempt to mask the grin that spread across face. “I did, yeah.”

“How?” Temari sounded unconvinced. “You don’t strike me as the type to put up with someone like that for that long.” 

“I’m surprised you think that of me,” he said, pleased again that she thought anything of him outside of the context of their ritualistic conversations. “But, as my friends have told me, I am not very good at romance. Pursuing, during, and after the fact.”

He would never admit it to Ino and Chouji, but they were right when it came to that little fact about him. Shikamaru was a genius, a title that was self-proclaimed _and_ appointed to him by his mother, but he was comically dense when it came to any form of romantic affection that made its way to him. He had never been quite sure of what made it that way—some days he figured it was his over-analytical personality that made him scrutinize small details to the point of irrationality; and other days he figured it was his inability to determine if anybody was attracted to him.

He wasn’t horrible looking and he didn’t think he was painfully boring, but he wasn’t anything extraordinary either. He wasn’t like Naruto, an urban Prince of old Uzushio, whose title was singularly glamourous on top of his magnetically boisterous personality and charming grin. He wasn’t even like Sasuke, who had been swooned over for his brooding demeanor and enchantingly mysterious air he wore like a cape. He had always thought of himself as an average guy who was destined to an average love with an average girl.

“That’s surprising,” she commented.

“Yeah?” He asked. “In what way?”   

“I don’t know,” Temari said and he had imagined she was shrugging. “You’re really nice—I mean _honest,_ and you pay attention to detail, _and_ you listen. That’s like the three essentials for a good, dateable guy.”

He smiled at the mention of his honesty over his niceness, admiring her recollection at noting that distinction he had made. “You think I’m dateable?”

There was a moment of silence before Temari said, “I feel as if answering that question will give you some sort of satisfaction so I’m going to refrain from doing so.”

“You’re killing me, Temari,” he deadpanned though continued to grin as he stretched out into his hammock.

“It’s the price you pay for getting comfortable with me,” she told him lightheartedly.

He closed his eyes and thought that it was a fair price to pay for continuously having her company and laughter.

“I’m flattered you think that,” Shikamaru continued. “But, again as my friends have said, it’s mostly because I’m fucking stupid when it comes to women. I think my problem is I can never really tell what anyone’s feeling or thinking.” 

“And you dated somebody for a year and a half without being able to tell?”

“I think you can spot the fault in that disaster of a relationship _because_ I was unable to tell what my own feelings for her were. I was eighteen and lonely—like you said, did what I did and it was what it was.”

They fell into a silence after that and he wondered what she thought of that little fact about him. Shiho had been the first and last serious girlfriend he had, and he never felt a great desire to jump back into the dating pool since. He figured that the time would come when it did, bearing for him his destined, average love with an average girl. 

There hadn’t been anybody who he had considered dateable within his age cohort, and it seemed to him that the number grew smaller with each year that passed by.

Not until the Bothersome Blonde came by, that was. 

Despite how dense he was when it came to his own feelings and that of others, he had some inkling of an idea that he found her dateable. She was gorgeous, obviously, but as he recalled their short interaction—the first time he had ever seen her, he could remember the bite she had given back to him during their argument. 

He didn’t know what he wanted in a woman, not really, but the fierce opposition she had met him with and her unwavering confidence in herself had him making a list of qualities he was looking for (that happened to match the ones he briefly saw in her) and checking them off. And it wasn’t just the fire she had given him that piqued his interest, but also the coy smiles he was going to continue to believe in bold ignorance were meant for him. He knew better than to make assumptions about people and construct false personalities for them but there was something magnetic about her that he had never felt with anybody else, in passing or otherwise. 

And he _also_ knew better than to keep mentally chasing after somebody he had only seen in passing—somebody he had to _remember_ had a boyfriend. He considered the probability of their chance run-ins becoming a habit and that in itself resulted in the forced-upon unhealthy obsession of this Bothersome Blonde he had to deal with. 

“So would you do it?” 

“Huh?” 

“Do long distance?” Temari asked.

“Oh,” he said intelligently, remembering then that they were in the middle of a conversation. “I think… I think I’d try but I don’t think I’ve got it in me to follow through. I’m too selfish too.”

“But you’d try at least,” Temari noted. 

He chuckled and snapped his lighter shut, nodding slightly as he said, “Yeah, I would, if that person meant that much to me and I couldn’t let them go. But uh, I don’t think I’d last. I’m a little too wimpy.”

“So I’m too selfish and you’re too wimpy. Got it,” she said jokingly.

He laughed again. “Yeah, something like that. But we’ll see if I ever meet anybody who’d make me want to try.” 

“Oh yeah, me too,” Temari agreed. “It’d have to take one hell of a person for me to even consider it.”

“You seem like a picky person when it comes to dating,” Shikamaru observed.

“Picky?” She echoed. “No, no. I have _standards_. I’ve been through too much shit just to let some asshole walk in and stake a claim on me.”

“That’s very fair,” he said. “There are quite a lot of assholes out there.”

“Oh trust me, I’m well aware,” Temari laughed. “But Konohagakure’s got some lookers to make up for it. Like today I ran—”

At that moment, a hypnotically melodic beat came to life and interrupted her as she snapped her mouth shut. 

“Sorry, it’s Gaara. I have to take this,” she told him with a tone of reluctance.

“Don’t be sorry,” he told her, “You do what you gotta do.”

“I didn’t sing for you tonight,” she said hastily, grabbing her guitar by the neck.

“You didn’t, no,” he said with a stupid grin growing across his face, surprised that she had even made note of that.

“I’ll make it up to you with two songs tomorrow.”

“Make it three and I’ll call it even,” he challenged.

She laughed again and he had to force himself from smiling any further in fear of his face bursting at the seams.

“Okay, fine. Since you put up with me,” she said.

“I think of it as the other way around, but yeah, glad we could come to this compromise.”

“Okay,” Temari laughed. “Okay, I really have to go. Good night, Shikamaru.”

“Good night, Temari,” he responded just as she answered _hey Gaara, is everything okay?_

He waited until he heard the door to her apartment click close before planting his feet onto the ground and standing to full height. He stretched as he thought curiously on what Temari had planned to say to him. Surely, she was going to mention some pretty boy she had seen during her walk around the city that afternoon.

He considered her comment on having standards and wondered then what kind of guys Temari was interested in.

And then he had to laugh because there he was again wondering about what a girl, whose face he had yet to see, liked in guys as if that mattered to him at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before i get into the announcement, i hope that nobody finds the domestic aspects of Shikamaru's life too boring. there is a lot of very deliberate callbacks i weave into his daily life that will come back in later chapters, especially those seen with Mirai so I hope that everyone enjoys that and mostly because i like being able to write a different side of Shikamaru <3 also sorry for any inaccurate characterizations/ooc :/ been kind of out of the game too long lol 
> 
> anyways, my dear friend [nahra]() and i, alongside a few other people, are in the process of putting together a ShikaTema zine called _[A Leaf in the Wind](https://aleafinthewindzine.tumblr.com/)_! we're currently accepting applications for both artists and authors, so if this is something you're interested in contributing to, you are highly encouraged and welcome to **[apply](https://aleafinthewindzine.tumblr.com/post/181055507720/apply-to-be-a-writer-or-artist-for-the)**! if you have any questions at all, fee free to message me on tumblr @ viiisenya, or drop us a line at the zine's tumblr linked above! otherwise, please please please keep the zine on your radar if you're interested in purchasing. we're very excited to be able to put this together for the small but fierce ShikaTema community and can't wait to see it come to fruition!
> 
> hope that this update was worth the wait, and i'll be back sooner next time <3 
> 
> until then x


	8. cassette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahah remember when i said i'd finish this story before the end of my break? LOL i'm keeping this opening note short - if you read c plus and remember the diner scene, this chapter is very similar to it. that being said, i'm sorry 
> 
> -enjoy

**“cassette” – ayokay**  
.  
_“this big divide but you always got a pull on me_  
_sink_ _or_ _swim_ _yeah_ _you’re_ _my_ _ocean_ _tide_  
_the_ _more_ _i_ _fight_ _it_ , _the_ _more_ _you’ve_ _got_ _a_ _hold_ _on_ _me_ ”  
. 

From the first time he had seen her, Shikamaru never felt a compelling need to tell anybody about the Bothersome Blonde. He _had_ figured she would just be a passerby and he’d forget about her after the whole five minutes they spent bickering over the stupid fucking hazelnut latte. He _had_ figured he would never see her again and that that would be the extent of his thoughts on her. He thought that _maybe_ he would mention her as an offhand comment some months later after spotting blonde hair that would remind him of her. He thought that he would never think about or notice or see her ever again. From the first time he had seen her, he had many thoughts on how few of his she would occupy.

He had never been so wrong in his entire life.

Over the two weeks since he had almost thrown a door into her face, her presence in the background of his life had only become much more pervasive—almost bleeding into the foreground. It had gotten to the point that he resurrected the thought of her being just a figment of his own imagination and the prospect of that alone was driving him absolutely insane.

He saw her at the grocery store again; and then another time as she was crossing the street while he had been driving to the office; and a different time as she was just leaving King’s while he was putting his car into park. She had shown up at all obscure turns in his life at places approximately fourteen seconds (yes, he ran the numbers— he really truly was just trying to live, okay?) before they would cross paths. Just before they would bump right into each other again and awkwardly stare until she would wave. Until she would wave and he’d gawk like the deer in the headlights he was, and he would wave back, and they would part just like that.

The exchange would be like déjà vu and a rehearsal and an instant replay of what they had done too many times to count, all wrapped into one carousel-shaped anomaly to keep him spinning spinning spinning until he felt sick to his stomach with violently cliché butterflies. 

Just two parallel lines with surefire trajectory to keep moving forward, close enough to be able to look right at each other but just far away enough not to be able to reach or call out to the other. 

But he would have to remind himself that was under the naïve assumption that she would _want_ to reach out to him. Because she had a boyfriend. A boyfriend with fiery red hair, and raccoon eyes, and _no eyebrows_.

He was losing his mind.

“Chou—Chouji, are you—did you hear anything I just said?” He asked, clicking his pair of chopsticks together.

His best friend grunted as he slurped down another piece of perfectly charred meat. “Yeah, yeah, something about braised beef?”

“Oh my—no, not even remotely close. The bothersome blonde woman? The one I’ve been seeing literally everywhere? Any of that register?”

“Oh right, right,” Chouji responded with a vigorous nod of his head. “What about her?”

Shikamaru groaned. “I just explained all of this to you and you didn’t hear any of it?”

“I’m sorry,” he responded, placing another thinly sliced piece of meat onto the grill. “The food is just _so_ good, it’s all I can focus on.”

“Chouji,” he deadpanned. “We’ve been eating here for over ten years and we come at least once a month. You say that _every_ single time we’re here.”

“I know!” Chouji exclaimed. “I know, I know, but it really is so good I have to say it every time. It feels like an injustice not to.”

“Okay, that’s understandable,” Shikamaru allowed. “The food is good, yes, but this is important. I feel like I’m going crazy.” 

The forced-ritualistic passing by of the Bothersome Blonde had become too much for him and his over-analytical brain that worked itself into being overheated and subsequently liquefied. He was beginning to grow desperate for confirmation—that she existed? That he was crazy? That she _was_ made up? He didn’t care at that point and figured he couldn’t afford to be awfully picky.

But employing the ear of his sincerest and most trustworthy friend seemed like a mistake once he watched Chouji continue to eat and not pay attention to him.

“Chouji,” he said again. 

His best friend’s eyes snapped to his. “Yes.”

“Are you ready to listen this time?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just give me the gist, I’m sure I’ll be able to piece it together.”

“Ugh—okay, so there was this blonde woman that came into King’s,” he began.

“Blonde woman, all right,” Chouji repeated between bites of rice.

“And she gave me a hard time about her drink—”

“Oh,” Chouji interrupted. “Did you make it wrong?” 

“Details don’t matter,” Shikamaru dismissed with a wave of his hand, taking a bite of from his bowl. “Anyways, she was probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Chouji whistled as he laid another piece of meat onto the sizzling grill. “Hey, be careful. Don’t say that in front of Ino; she might have a stroke.” 

“You said the same thing when I mentioned a flower looking nice,” Shikamaru drawled.  
  
“Yeah,” Chouji said. “That’s because Ino is the literal female, reincarnation of Narcissus. Remember when she lost _best dressed_ in high school? She almost killed the poor asshole who tallied the votes.”

Shikamaru considered that for a moment with narrowed eyes, recalling the unbridled fury Ino had dealt them by-proxy. “Hm. All right, yeah, you’re right. So you gotta swear you won’t tell her about this, yeah?” 

Chouji choked. “And put my _life_ on the line? Shikamaru, you’re my best friend, but I don’t know if I love you enough for that.”

“Are you kidding me,” he deadpanned. “Just don’t mention it. I’ll tell her myself when I’m ready.”

“That’s _physically_ impossible!” Chouji exclaimed. “You know Ino can fucking read minds, right?”

Shikamaru made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. “I think you need to stop believing everything Ino says.”

“No, no,” Chouji shook his head. “No bullshit, she _can_. You should know better than anyone that you can’t keep a secret from Ino. She’ll _know_ if I’m keeping something from her.”

“You’re killing me, Chou,” Shikamaru groaned. “Just _don’t_ say anything. I’ll take care of it, I promise.”

Chouji’s expression was pained though from heartburn or fear of keeping the secret, Shikamaru wasn’t entirely sure. After a moment of serious contemplation, he finally nodded. 

“All right, okay, fine,” Chouji relented. “I won’t say anything. So what’s the point of this story about the buxom blonde?”

“ _Bothersome_ ,” Shikamaru corrected. “And it’s—it’s just fucking weird. I’ve been seeing her everywhere.”

Chouji narrowed his eyes. “That’s it? Shikamaru, you do realize that the city is, like, _always_ moving and you’re bound to run into people?” 

He frowned. “You don’t get it. I’ve seen her in _all_ the places I go to. I even saw her at Sound the last time we were there.”

He omitted the detail of not being _entirely_ sure of seeing her, but figured that being _almost_ sure was the same. As he had said, details didn’t matter.

Chouji considered that over a leafy green. “Did you even see her at the market?”

“Yes,” Shikamaru said firmly. “And she passed Deibu’s. And I saw her by the office, and King’s again. Everywhere I go, she’s been there.”

His best friend pursed his lips before taking a long drink from his glass of water. “Maybe she’s stalking you.”

The phrase forced the food he had shoveled into his mouth down the wrong tube, resulting in a near death experience and hot tears stinging his eyes.

“What?” He croaked once he was able to speak. 

“Maybe she’s stalking you,” Chouji repeated.   

He had never considered such a possibility but as he pondered it, it seemed too farfetched. Just as there would be no way somebody like her would reach out to him, there _definitely_ would be no way she would stalk (!!!) him. He was nothing but a coffee-loving, chain-smoking schmuck who had dropped out of law school and overanalyzed everything while she was like the fucking _sun._ He could never compare to her—wasn’t even within the same _league_ as her.

“That’s—” He opened and closed his mouth, gaping like a fish out of water. “That’s—no. I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know that,” Chouji argued, briefly thanking their server for clearing the empty plates off the table and for their bill. 

“I—actually yes, I do. She has a boyfriend,” Shikamaru explained. “I’ve seen them together before.”

“Ahh,” Chouji sighed. “Okay, I understand now. So, _you’re_ stalking _her._ ”  
  
He choked again. “What— _Chouji_ , I’m _not_ stalking her.”

“What a convincing argument,” his best friend applauded. “I’m just fucking with you. So, you’re shit outta luck is what you’re telling me.”

“I mean, I didn’t ever think I had a chance to begin with,” Shikamaru corrected. “It was just really weird to see her _everywhere_ after she came into King’s. You know nobody new ever comes by King’s.”

“Yeah,” Chouji agreed. “Does old lady Saki still come by?” 

“On Mondays, yeah,” Shikamaru answered immediately. “Around nine-thirty.”

Chouji sighed as he leaned back against the booth. “I miss her. She was so nice and _always_ tipped me.”

“She tipped you?” He asked incredulously. “She’s never tipped me.”

Chouji bellowed a laugh, slapping a hand to the table. “Are you kidding? That’s hilarious. You make the best coffee and she’s never tipped you?”

“Maybe she was pity-tipping you for trying, Chou,” he drawled jokingly.

“Rude, that was rude. You know I tried— oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“What?” Shikamaru exclaimed worriedly. 

“Don’t—don’t fucking turn—Ino just walked in. She’s going to _know_ , dude. Oh my god. Don’t look.”

“Goddamn it, Chouji, I thought the second-coming of Hagaromo walked in,” Shikamaru groaned, exasperated. “It’s fine. Just don’t overreact. I told you I’ll take care of it.” 

“See, that was easy to believe when Ino wasn’t here. But, now that she’s here, I’m not so sure anymore,” Chouji explained painfully. “Ino _hates_ not knowing secrets and on top of this _bothersome blonde_ you think is the most beautiful woman in the world, she really might kill us. Oh fuck.”

“What now?” 

“ _She’s blonde too_!” Chouji cried, coming to the realization. “This girl you’re stalking is blonde! Ino’s always been defensive about being the prettiest blonde ever!” 

“You’re severely overreacting,” Shikamaru sighed. “Ino isn’t that terrifying and not _that_ vain. You know this. God, what did she do to you to make you so afraid of her?”

“Who did what to make who afraid?” Ino said suddenly, sliding into the space beside Shikamaru. Chouji paled as if he had seen a ghost.

“We were talking about Lady Senator,” Shikamaru supplied smoothly, giving a side glance to Chouji. “Naruto told me about how she sent him away one summer to Mount Myouboku.”

It was not a _complete_ and total lie. Naruto had truly told him the story of the monstrous summer he spent in the mountains up north when he was sixteen years old. He underwent grueling training intended to teach him discipline, something his mother had insisted he lacked, under the tutelage of esteemed Sennin Moudo master Fukusaku. By the end of one long summer, Naruto mastered the martial art _and_ discipline, leaving his mother pleased with her decision.

Though it just so happened that they weren’t exactly talking about Naruto’s journey to mastering Sennin Moudo, but Ino didn’t need to know that. 

Ino threw her head back in a laugh. “I think Sakura told me about that once. Anyways, you nerds just finishing lunch?”

“Yeah,” Chouji managed. “We were about to head out.”

“Mind waiting a bit longer?” Ino asked. “I just got take-out. It’s been a while since the gang’s been together, ya know?”

“We saw you two weeks ago,” Shikamaru pointed out.

“I know, I know,” Ino said, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. “But I mean just the three of us! Anyways, what were you guys talking about before? I looked over and Chouji looked like he was going to pass out.” 

“Naruto,” Shikamaru answered immediately, quickly glancing at Chouji who stared back with big, _I told you so_ eyes. “Like I just said. The shit at Mount Myouboku. We both agreed we wouldn’t be able to last, right Chou?” 

Ino scoffed. “Bullshit.”

He stiffened as he slowly looked over at Ino. Maybe Chouji _was_ right about Ino knowing they were keeping a secret.

“Chouji wrestled in high school and part of undergrad,” Ino continued, waving her hand for emphasis. “He’d definitely be able to do whatever the fuck Naruto did that summer. He’s probably—shit, Chou, are you okay?” 

He glanced over at Chouji again, whose face was contorted in poorly maintaining their cover.

“I think that’s constipation,” Shikamaru said dryly.

“Indigestion,” Chouji corrected weakly. It was beyond him whether that that was the truth given his best friend’s reaction to their mutual best friend sitting across from him, but he hoped for both of their sakes’ that it was.

Ino fished around her purse as she asked, “Do you want an antacid? I should have one in here.”

“I think—I think I just need to go outside,” Chouji strained. “I need some air.”

“You need something all right,” Shikamaru muttered under his breath, giving him a narrowed-eye stare. 

“Miss Yamanaka?” Somebody called from the front. 

“Oh perfect timing,” Ino chirped. “We can all head out together!”

What sounded like a cough from across the table was easily recognizable to Shikamaru as a noise of distress by Chouji. He frowned, unable to think of what exactly it was that Ino had done to Chouji to make him so harrowingly frightened of her. 

“Do you guys work today?” Ino asked, towing her neatly packed lunch as they exited the restaurant.

“My dad gave me the day off,” Shikamaru explained, “but Asuma wants me to close so I’m headed to King’s.”

“I had the day off too,” Chouji managed, his expression growing exponentially pained by the minute. 

Ino scowled. “How unfair; you guys got the same day off while I didn’t.”

He lazily rolled his shoulders in a poor shrug. “It’s what happens when you’re a big-shot dead person doctor, I guess."

“Whatever,” Ino rolled her eyes. “We should grab dinner sometime this week, though.”

Shikamaru glanced over at Chouji who gave a short nod. “For sure. Just let us know when.”

“Will do,” Ino said, heading off in the opposite direction. “Make sure to drink some water, Chou. I’ll see you guys later!”

“Bye,” Shikamaru waved as Chouji responded with a low whine beside him. 

He watched as Ino rounded the corner and was definitely out of ear shot before he slapped the back of his hand against Chouji’s arm. 

“Chouji, what the hell was that?” He asked.

“Actual indigestion, you fucking asshole,” Chouji scowled until he let out a loud burp. “Never mind, it was just gas. But it _did not_ help that Ino showed up unannounced.”

“You’re something else, Chou,” Shikamaru drawled. “I told you I’ll take care of it.”

“You better or I’m throwing you under the bus and dragging you to Ino’s hell with me,” Chouji frowned.

“I’m counting on it,” he deadpanned, glancing at his best friend from out of the corner of his eye before allowing a grin to break across his face.

Chouji shook his head, returning the grin as he slapped a hand to Shikamaru’s back. “You and your taste in girls, I swear. Remember Shiho?”

“I try not to,” he responded.

“She was a nightmare,” Chouji continued. “I hope this new blonde girl you set your sights on isn’t batshit crazy or anything.”

“Hm,” Shikamaru grunted, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I told you already, there’s no chance with someone like her—even if she didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“That’s quitter talk,” Chouji said. “Maybe they’ll break up and she’ll mosey on down to King’s and you can work your coffee-man charm on her.”

He scoffed as he raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, because that’s just how this shit works.”

“Hey, man,” Chouji shrugged. “I’m just being optimistic for you. I can’t remember the last time you had any actual interest in a girl besides the ones you’d occasionally bring home just to keep your bed warm and even those ones didn’t last any longer than a week.”

“Yeah, you and me both,” Shikamaru sighed. “But, like I said, I’m not pursuing. I just—I just can’t. Not with her. If you’d see her, you’d know what I mean.”

The need to describe every detail he could remember off the top of his head about the Bothersome Blonde sat in the back of his throat, in the same place where his tongue would get caught upon seeing her. His obsessive attraction to this stranger was like a flame, raking the inside of his neck with magma hot claws and incessant threats to spill over the edge of his lips. 

Chouji was right, though—there hadn’t been anybody else that incited so much excitement or attachment in him in a long time. And Chouji was ever the optimist, thinking as if he would ever have a chance with her. It was a fever dream to think about what her skin would feel like under his hands, and how soft her hair would be, and what her voice would sound like saying his name.

He felt a guilty blush bleed against the back of his neck and disgust sit in the pit of his belly. He shouldn’t have been thinking about a stranger like that because he _knew_ better than do to something so fucking creepy (like a goddamn serial killer!). It seemed as if talking with his best friend to release some tension did nothing to help. He shook his head slightly. 

“God,” Chouji scoffed. “Suit yourself then. Keep this _admire from afar_ bullshit up if that’s what you want.” 

“Wouldn’t say it’s what I want,” Shikamaru said slowly as they approached an intersection. “But probably what’s best.” _For me anyways._

Chouji laughed, shaking his head again. “And you say _I’m_ something else. All right. Hey, make sure you break the news about this drop-dead gorgeous woman to Ino gently. I really am afraid you’re gonna drop the ball with this one.”

“Keep reminding me and I just might,” Shikamaru drawled, heading in one direction as Chouji went the opposite.

“You’re the worst,” he heard Chouji call. 

He laughed. “You pronounced _best_ wrong.”

“ _Bye_ , Shikamaru.” His best friend’s voice was just a blur in the breeze at that point.

“See ya later, Chou,” he said anyways despite the fact that he knew Chouji wouldn’t have heard him.

* * *

His lunch with Chouji and impromptu run-in with Ino had proved to be the most exciting part of his day. As he carefully poured the boiling water into the cup of instant ramen, he recounted what was a painfully average day at King’s. 

Upon arrival, the three kids were present behind the counter bickering as they often were with proprietor Sarutobi Asuma nowhere to be found. He then discovered that Asuma opted to play hooky for the day in order to take his little princess to the zoo, leaving his _esteemed_ manager to close in his stead. After closing the shop and what he considered then to be a mentally taxing day, he steered himself home to his couch to take a long nap. 

And then there he was six hours later at eleven p.m., feeling like one Prince of Old Uzushio preparing an instant ramen in his underwear.

The midday humidity lingered long into the night and Kakashi had unceremoniously relayed that the air-conditioning “conked” out, being down for at least a week until repairs could be done. He had assumed that leaving the windows open would have done something to alleviate the suffocating grip the humid air had on him, but it did the exact opposite leaving him a heaping, sweaty mess on his couch without a fan to circulate the air. He also knew that sitting outside with a cup of hot soup would be something short of torture given that the humid air sat stagnantly, but they were little prices to pay.

He pushed the door to his balcony open with his foot as he gracelessly balanced his cup of ramen, chopsticks, a bottle of water, and his lighter with both hands while he held his pack of cigarettes with his teeth. 

The familiar sound of mindless strumming was much more welcoming than the thick sheet of warm, sticky air as he settled into his hammock. He counted the empty coffee cups festering in the moonlight one two three before reprimanding himself to do some tidying up. But, that would be a tomorrow problem. 

“Hey,” he called as he set the cup of ramen beside his feet to cook.

“Hey,” Temari responded as she continued plucking the cords of her guitar. “This air conditioning problem is bullshit.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “It goes out when everyone uses it a lot. I remember it did this a couple of years ago when I first moved in.”

“Wonderful,” she said bitterly. “I’m very glad that Kakashi told me this would be a problem when I moved in.”

“I’m sensing very deep seated sarcasm right there,” he mused as he peeled the paper of his ramen cup back. 

“You’re quite perceptive,” Temari said. “I didn’t think the heat was so bad when I moved here, you know, because it’s a lot like what it is back home. But I had the air conditioning to go back to and this humidity is _killing_ my hair.”

“Oh?” He said, stabbing the noodles with his chopsticks. “Where’s home?” 

“I’m surprised you’re asking now,” Temari teased. 

“Didn’t think I could before,” he said with a mouthful of hot noodles, regretting his decision not to eat ice cream for dinner instead. “But we’re friends now, so it doesn’t feel like I’m pushing too much of a boundary here.” 

“How thoughtful of you,” she said with a joking lilt and he imagined that gentle smile he made up in his mind sitting on her lips. “I’m from Sunagakure.”

“God,” Shikamaru choked. “So I really have no room to complain about the hot weather when I’m talking with you then.”

She laughed and something in his belly rippled. “It’s not all that bad. You get used to it eventually—but this, _this_ humidity is killer.”

He shook his head. “It gets humid, yeah, but it being this bad is global warming’s doing. Suna’s heat is a death sentence, no offense.” 

Temari laughed again, “Yeah, you’re not far off from wrong.”

“Infrastructure is nice, though,” Shikamaru said.

“Don’t feel obligated to compliment the place after you called it a death sentence,” Temari responded lightly.

It was his turn to laugh. “No, really, it’s beautiful. The architecture’s classic and I like that the city nearly blends in with the desert.”

“That’s Suna of old with the classic architecture—back in the royal days when we still had kings and shit. A defense mechanism built into our infrastructure; beauty and security all in one or whatever. Are you really into that kind of stuff?” 

“Infrastructure and architectural design?”

“Yeah." 

“Not really,” Shikamaru admitted. “But I can appreciate a nice looking city. I drove through a few years ago and aside from the skin-melting heat, I remember a lot about the buildings.”

“Hm.” The noise of acknowledgement was a low hum in the back of her throat and he wondered what she was thinking of.

“You sound like you know a lot about Suna’s history,” he pointed out. “You a history buff?”

“Ha,” she barked. “Something like that, yeah.” 

He contemplated her tone for a moment, the bead of sweat sliding down his back a manifestation of his sudden anxiety in potentially stepping into murky waters.

Setting down his empty cup of ramen, he asked, “You ever miss it?”

“Home?”

“Yeah.”

“I miss my brothers,” she said carefully, as if walking a thin line. “My uncle Yashamaru. And my rooftop apartment. I—yeah, sometimes. I miss home sometimes.”

“You had a rooftop apartment?” He asked in a lighthearted tone, hoping to clear the storm clouds he feared were fast approaching. “That sounds expensive.”

Her laugh was gentle and he felt as if he could let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. “Oh it was. But then again, everything has been expensive since the economy fell through.” 

He figured that Sunagakure’s economic state would appear one way or another. The Sunagakure Recession had been a hot topic some fifteen years ago and eventually fell out of media coverage. Very few people knew of how or why the recession had happened when Sunagakure was _prospering_. It was an economic mystery, but once everybody stopped talking about it, the general consensus was that the problem was resolved and part of the past.

Shikamaru was shrewd enough to know that that wasn’t true. Wasn’t even remotely true.

Being the son of a lawyer and best friends with the son of politicians gave him more express, unrefined knowledge of the political world; the type that hadn’t yet been processed by media outlets. 

Naruto had described to him reports of national aid still needing to be shuffled under the table into Sunagakure a decade and a half later just to keep the state afloat; it was a bit of information his father would corroborate after checking with Minato and Kushina offhandedly. When he questioned the legality of that, his father only shrugged— “The Daimyo have a lot of pride,” his father had said in response; “Something happened in Sunagakure and they don’t want the rest of the world to know exactly what.”

Beside the façade that the Desert State was seemingly stable, Shikamaru knew nothing else of the political or economic climate even after his short trip years ago. He figured not many people did.

“Yeah, I heard about that when I was younger.”

“You remember it happening?” Temari asked with a tone of skepticism. “That was over fifteen years ago. You would’ve been like what, nine years old?” 

“Ten,” he corrected, lighting a cigarette. “My dad kept—well, still keeps up, with the news as he should. He talked about it a lot.”

“Yeah,” Temari sighed. “It’s still being talked about back home. Do you keep up with politics a lot?”

“Sort of against my will,” he admitted.

“Me too,” she sighed again.

He mulled over that for a moment before saying, “I know what it means for me to keep up with politics against my will—but what does that mean for you?”

“Oh, you first,” she said with a burst of energy. “Because I know what it means for me but not for you.”

He laughed. “I should’ve seen that coming.” 

“I like to keep you on your toes,” she hummed. 

“Seems like it,” he said as he leaned back into his hammock. “So my dad’s the District Attorney—”

“Oh wow,” she whistled. “The District Attorney’s son. That must rile all the girls up.” 

He barked a laugh, nearly choking on the smoke he inhaled. “You’d be surprised. I was pretty popular the couple of months I was in law school.”

It was half a lie at best. He had only been popular with many of the faculty because of his status, and some of the students for being the levelheaded friend of the loudmouthed Uzumaki. But not with girls—not that Temari needed to know that or anything.

“Anyways, sorry, so you’re the District Attorney’s son,” Temari backpedaled with amusement tinged in her voice.

“Yeah, and one of my best friends is the kid of the governor and senator. So, most of all of my conversations with a lot of the people in my life end up about politics, one way or another.”

She laughed, “I know how that feels. The governor’s kid, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said. “He’s something. So how do _you_ know how it feels to talk politics against your will?”

“The governor’s kid,” she repeated. 

He figured he misheard as he smartly said, “What?”

“My rooftop apartment,” Temari began, “was probably three times what I pay for this apartment. But I had it because I’m the governor’s kid.”

There was a moment of silence before he deadpanned, “You’re fucking with me.”

“Nope,” Temari said. “I’m Governor Sabaku Rasa’s daughter.” 

“That makes you royalty,” he blurted. “Like literal fucking royalty.”

“Maybe four hundred years ago when the Daimyo didn’t have any power over the states,” Temari said nonchalantly, as if she _didn’t_ hold nearly the same political status as Naruto. “All it makes me now is a candidate for the governor’s seat which I abdicated.”

“You abdicated?” He was still in shock that he was (and had been!) speaking with the infamous Governor of Sunagakure’s daughter, even more so after the fact that she had disclosed abdicating the _only_ inheritable governor’s seat in the country. “Mind me asking why?”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” she laughed. “Everyone always asks—but, uh, I just. I just wasn’t up to it. The economy’s still in shambles and the Daimyo’s always breathing down the old man’s neck. I wouldn’t be able to—I wouldn’t be able to fix it.”

Her voice had grown quieter with each word and the bite that she added at the mention of her father sent him back two weeks when he had learned of her disdain for him.

“It’s a tough seat to fill,” he said.

“Yeah,” she agreed softly. “Yeah, it is. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he said, smashing his cigarette against the tray before lighting another one. “Shoot.”

She gave him a nervous laugh. “God, okay—so what do you know about the, uh, the economy falling through?”  
  
“What I know?” He asked. “Or what I really know?”

It was a little bold of him to assume that she would understand what he meant with such a vague response, but Temari was much sharper than he initially thought. 

“What you really know.”

He took a long drag and exhaled deep into the night, mashing his lips together in a poor attempt to organize his thoughts. “Not much, really. Lots of rumors, but I’m skeptical. A lot about it being Sabaku’s fault; money under the table keeping the state barely functioning; the Daimyo covering it up.”

“Perks of being the DA’s son, huh?” She said.

He grinned to himself. “You could say so. If shady politics is like hot gossip, then my dad’s a schoolgirl.”

That earned him a laugh like music to his ears before Temari asked, “But you’re skeptical?”

Shikamaru grunted and pushed a foot against the metal railing to send himself swaying. “Gotta be. Nothing adds up. Fifteen years ago, Sunagakure was thriving and at the peak of renewable energy—multiple cities were powered by wind and solar power, including the capitol. But then something happened—something that nobody has any idea about and now there’s no more renewable energy. Economy’s down the drain, and there’s _barely_ any public record about the fact that the state is receiving national aid. But from who? The Daimyo? Foreign powers? Everything’s been swept under the rug.”

Temari was silent for a moment and he regretted dumping all of that onto her. What kind of pretentious asshole talked about the political and economic atmosphere of a state to the person whose father _was the fucking governor_? He could vomit.

“So that’s what everyone else knows,” she finally said and he was caught off guard once again.

“Not everyone,” he pointed out. “Only the few who went looking.”

“And you went looking,” she paused before adding, “I thought you said you only kept up with politics against your will?”

He laughed under his breath. “I’m gonna be honest, I didn’t give a damn about it when it happened ‘cause I was ten years old—but when it kept coming up years later and then suddenly vanished without any resolution, I had to do some digging.”

“All that digging, and that’s where it got you?”  

“As far as my badge could take me, yeah.”

“As far as your badge could take you,” she echoed and then laughed. “You’re too much, Shikamaru.” 

The sound of his name coming from her lips still sent a shiver down his spine even two weeks later. “Some would say I’m resourceful— cunning, even.”

“Or maybe that you’re just the District Attorney’s son,” she deadpanned.

He tried his hardest to frown in feigned offense, but it did nothing to stop his grin. “You’re never gonna let me win, are you?” 

“No,” Temari laughed. “Not for a while.”

“You’re brutal.” 

“So I’ve been told,” she responded coolly and it was hard not to try imagining what a smirk would look like on her face.

Another silence blanketed over them and he had assumed it was a preface to her picking up her guitar, but she said to him instead, “They’re not far off from wrong, though.”

“What?”

“The rumors—the ones about my dumbass father ruining everything.”

Again. “What?”

“You want to know the truth, Shikamaru?”

“I mean I, uh—isn’t that, uh, isn’t that illegal?” He stuttered. “Divulging information from the Sunagakure government—if the rumors are true, and it’s being covered up, isn’t that—” 

“Treason,” Temari corrected. “I think. High treason, actually. Because we’re _really_ old-fashioned and still follow the old laws. Did you know they put me through princess school until I was fifteen? Made me learn all of the old laws and shit.”

“ _Princess school?_ ” Shikamaru exclaimed. “God—there’s so much—we’ll come back to that another night. _Treason?_ Temari, that means you could go to jail.”

“It means nothing since I abdicated,” she said with strong sureness in her voice. “Do you want to know or not?”

“I—” He struggled for a moment, his jaw hanging open.

Too much information had already been unloaded onto him, much more than he could have ever anticipated. There was so much to piece together and he was unsure of where to even begin. Maybe with the fact that Sabaku Temari, a political princess of Sunagakure, had abdicated her birthright and left her home to live above him and play her guitar at obscenely late hours of the night. And then the fact that she was _that close_ to committing high treason, as she described it, and maybe even taking him to prison with her. There was a dull ache that grew behind his eyes as he tried to process all of that in the three seconds he had before answering.

“Why?” He settled on asking instead. “Why now and why me?”

“Because you went digging,” she answered immediately. “Because I trust you and—and… I need to… somebody needs to know the truth. Someone does.”  

“Okay,” he agreed after a quiet moment, picking up on the traces of insistence in her voice. He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t also interested in finding out the truth too. “I could go to jail, but okay.”

“You only go to jail if you say something,” she told him. 

“And what makes you think I won’t?” 

“Because I trust you,” she repeated. “And you don’t want to go to jail.” 

“I _don’t_ want to go jail,” he agreed. He let out a nervous laugh against his better judgement and reached for another cigarette. “All right. Lay it on me.”

“Do you trust me?” She asked him suddenly.

“Of course I do,” he answered. “You’re the governor’s fucking daughter. There’s no reason I _wouldn’t_ trust you with this shit.”

“I could be lying.” 

“You could be,” he agreed again, nodding. “You could have been lying this entire time. But I trust you.”

“Okay,” she exhaled. It was another steady breath in before she said again, “okay.”

“You were right about the rumors,” she began. “We were the frontrunners of incredibly innovative, renewable energy. The engineers and scientists had worked on the specs and plans for _fifteen years_ trying to take advantage of how windy the desert got and how much sun exposure there was. I was just born when they finally got everything built and set up, but it took years for it to really take off. We started in the capitol and then branched out, you know? It was good—it was _so_ good.”

She went on to describe several initiatives that were written into law by Rasa with the sudden influx of money saved due to the renewable energy they had then; the state’s budget was able to divide up the money to important things such as more stable education programs and ensuring that no one was left hungry or on the streets. Sunagakure was happy and healthy and _flourishing._

“So he was doing good,” Temari continued. “Everyone loved him and you know, he had it easy, honestly, because all of that renewable energy shit was set up by my—fuck, my great uncle? Whatever. So, he walked right into all of this and all he had to do was sign off on some charitable executive orders. The state goes crazy because _what a good and honest man Rasa is,_ you know? And it went to his head—all of it did.”

He made note of the scorn in her voice that appeared whenever she mentioned her father. A hundred thoughts ran through his head as to _why_ it could have been that way, but he knew he would learn soon enough. Which stirred a sinking feeling in his belly at the possibility that her hate for her father ran much deeper than ruining their state. 

“I was almost two years old when Kankurou was born—I don’t remember it but I looked happy enough in pictures. My dad looked happy. My _mom_ was so happy, and she was glowing, and—” Her voice had begun to quiver at the mention of her mother and the feeling in his belly only sank deeper.

“My mom told me that I wanted a sister when, uh—when she was pregnant again, the third time. I was three? Almost four? I can’t remember but I wanted a sister apparently,” she laughed shakily and let out a sharp exhale.

“ _God_. I—I can understand why I wanted a sister, because brothers are messy and rough, you know? All of those bullshit stereotypes associated with them. And I’m the oldest, so I’d have to deal with them. She said I was so upset when they told me the baby was going to be a boy. I already had a brother! I didn’t want another one.” 

She paused and he could barely hear the nervous tapping of her foot against the metal flooring of the balcony; a desperate _tac tac tac_ for stability in what he easily perceived was an emotionally tumultuous recollection of the past.

“Gaara almost didn’t make it when he was born,” she said so quietly he strained to hear. “Neither did my mom. It was an emergency C-section and he was a month premature. I don’t—I don’t _remember_ it happening because I was three, still a baby, you know? But I just barely remember not seeing her for months. I guess that was the start of it—her recovery was so long. Longer than it should have been. And they had to keep Gaara attached to tubes and in a little box because he was so premature. But I cried,” she paused to laugh. “I cried so hard when I saw Gaara for the first time. Little me was like ‘fuck all of that sister shit;’ there was _nothing_ sweeter than another little brother.”

He was quick to connect the dots with the story that had begun at renewable energy and ended up at the birth of her youngest brother. Shikamaru remembered with great clarity despite his state of inebriation the hell her father put her brother through, and the blame placed on him for the death of their mother.

“Do you have any siblings, Shikamaru?” She asked him.

“I don’t,” he answered simply.

Temari contemplated that for a quiet moment before continuing, “Since Gaara was so small, everybody picked on him. Being the governor’s kid didn’t do shit to stop the bullies, but a bitch older sister did.”

“Is that why they put you through princess school?” He asked in a gentle, joking tone.

She gave him a genuine laugh, soft like summer rain. “Probably, honestly. It was all bullshit—that’ll be another night though, like you said. But anyways, my mom finally comes home sometime later and everything’s fine, right? My dad was the happiest he’s ever been—he has a beautiful wife, three kids like he always wanted, he’s the fucking governor and doing a good job at it. It’s perfect. It was…it was perfect.” 

“But then my mom gets sick again, and we think it’s just a cold—we—” she breaks the thought with a bitter laugh. “We think it’s a _cold._ As if you could get a cold in the fucking desert. I didn’t think anything of it because I’m five years old, you know? But my dad – and I remember this so clearly – my dad was _stressed_. You could see it right on his face. I could tell with _him_ something was wrong, but it was just another time my mom had to be away like when Gaara was born.”

Temari confided in him the continuation of illness that plagued her mother, despite their family’s belief that it would pass. She described the beginnings of staying home from work for days, then weeks, then months before having to be moved to the hospital for an indefinite period of time.

“She was in the hospital for a year and a half,” she said. “I was eight then, Kankurou was six, and Gaara was five. So, when the hospital couldn’t do anything, my dad pulled her out and had her stay at home. We had a special doctor in and out, every day. A different one every single time. And, you know, even when she was that sick, she still sang—still made the time to sing with me, and to Gaara and Kankurou. Gaara was a momma’s boy to the core and I remember that year she was in the hospital was so hard for him because there wasn’t anyone to sing to him.”

She paused for a moment, allowing the information to settle. He had placed his feet firmly onto the floor, letting his head hang slightly as he listened to her carefully draw in a breath.

“So, my mom was sick with this—this _disease_ and no one knew what it was. He brought in every single doctor in Sunagakure and none of them could figure it out. My dad was at his fucking wits end and we were—we were running out of money. Because Suna isn’t like Konohagakure with universal healthcare; even the governor had to pay for a dying wife’s medical bills. And I didn’t—I didn’t know this until Yashamaru told me years later, but my dad—he started siphoning money from the renewable energy funds. It started as a little bit, just enough to keep to doctors around because they _had_ to be close to figuring out what was wrong with her. But then just enough turned into a little bit more until all of the money disappeared. All of it… the millions of dollars we saved because of the renewable energy was _gone_.”

The fact had hit him in the gut as it loomed over him menacingly.

Press coverage on Sabaku Rasa as an individual was never good, he knew that; always something about being too snide or too cold or too unapproachable as observed by other national dignitaries. Minato himself had mumbled about Governor Sabaku lacking a sense of humor whenever they had met briefly.

But the story Temari had revealed to him, the truth of a man who loved his wife to the point of draining his own state dry uncovered a new dimension to him.

“So, is that what the Daimyo is covering up?” He asked.

She barked a humorless laugh. “Poorly. The story has changed so much nobody back home even knows what’s real anymore. But you wanna know what the most fucked up part is? What makes my dad the biggest fucking asshole in the entire world?”

“What?” He did not like the sound of where else this story could possibly go.

“She could’ve been saved,” Temari choked out, her voice just shy of an angry whisper. “My mom could still be alive today if he—if he wasn’t such a prideful piece of shit. He refused to have anybody outside of Sunagakure see her. Some bullshit about not needing anybody’s help since he was doing so good on his own. But when we had everyone in the state come see and nobody could do anything, he finally caved. You know who Dr. Senju is, right?”

“Of course,” Shikamaru answered immediately. “The miracle worker.”

From the prestigious Senju family that had helped established Konohagakure as a state and cofounded Senha energy, Dr. Senju Tsunade was hailed as a medical genius who was able to heal just about anybody she ran into. It was under her tutelage that Sakura had become such a revered doctor in a short amount of time. Tsunade had been the one to save the life of Police Captain Uchiha Obito after being taken out by a landslide; she had performed such a near perfect facial reconstruction that lasted thirty-two hours, his mother hadn’t even realized his face had been disfigured to begin with.

“Yeah,” Temari sighed. “The miracle worker. After my uncle bitched him out long enough, my dad finally asked her to come but… _god_ , she just said there wasn’t anything she could do. I was so angry when they told me that because… she _had_ to have been able to do something, right? I heard the stories—like the one about the guy who got caught in that freak landslide accident. So, how could she not save my mom? We weren’t asking her to fix my mom’s face—just to make her not be sick anymore. I was so mad, I hated her. I hated her so much because I’m thirteen and it’s her fault that my mom is dying. But—but, there was _one_ night.”

She told him in a wavering tone the decision to put her mother through in-home hospice care, as directed by Tsunade. The last thing that could have been done for her was just to make her as comfortable as possible. His stomach was tight with the secondhand grief Temari was re-experiencing as he listened to her describe the night her mother passed.

“The night she died… we weren’t even in our own house; the boys and I had been staying with Yashamaru for a month because we were too noisy for the hospice caretakers that came in and my dad thought it was better that way anyways. At—at that point, my mom was so sluggish and unresponsive—she couldn’t even hold her own head up so it was… it was just better that we weren’t there.”

She paused for a moment drawing in one short breath after another. “I couldn’t sleep that night. Something didn’t feel right—you ever get that feeling? Like something’s off but you don’t really know what it is?”

“Like a bad stomachache,” Shikamaru mumbled. Nothing traumatic had ever happened to him, not to the same degree that it had to Temari, but he knew full well the feeling of dread that sat like lead in the pit of one’s belly.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I went downstairs because I just wanted a hug because I _was_ so tired and so sad, didn’t even know what the fuck hospice was but I—I just needed something. But then, I heard my dad in the kitchen—he and Yashamaru were arguing. I don’t think I was ever supposed to know— _none_ of us were ever supposed to know that she could’ve been saved, but I will always remember the sound of Yashamaru’s voice…He said—he said ‘my sister is dead because of _you,_ do you understand me? She died because of _your_ pride.’”

Her voice was muffled by her hands cupped over her mouth, an attempt to contain the sharp sadness that spilled in the form of a subdued sob. 

She told him of the possibility that Tsunade could have saved her mother had she been notified years in advance, during the time when the illness was just beginning to develop. Her uncle had lashed out at her father for his inability to look past his ego and berated him for not listening to him sooner. 

“Yashamaru was crying and trying so hard not to yell because we—we were supposed to be asleep. He said that Dr. Senju talked about having cured a person who showed similar symptoms but—but it was already way too late for her. Ten years too late. My mom died that night and I had to pretend like I didn’t know it was my dad’s fault. Because he didn’t want to ask for help. Because he was too full of himself to ask the greatest doctor one state over to help. My mom died and Suna suffered for it because of _his_ arrogance.”

The gravity of Sunagakure’s reality was draped over his shoulders, weighing him down until he caught his head with both hands.

“Temari, I’m—”

“I couldn’t hate him, you know,” she interjected quietly. “Because I loved my dad so much. Still sort of do, I guess deep down, but I loved him a lot. He was a good man once—and _happy_. And I know he loved my mom more than anything, and even at thirteen, I could understand. I could understand _ruining_ an entire state for somebody you love—jeopardizing the lives of your people for one person. And I almost forgave him for letting mom die. For letting our home be run dry. But—but, it wasn’t until he told Gaara, _his son_ , ‘this is _your_ fault.’ It wasn’t until he tried to shake the blame for something _he_ did that I—I just couldn’t fucking… I couldn’t believe it. Gaara was _ten years old_. And then he… he made life hell for him so badly that Gaara believed him.”

“Is… is that why you abdicated?” He asked carefully.

“Part of it,” she admitted. “Yeah, part of it. It made him mad but I didn’t fucking care. I wasn’t going to step up to clean up _his_ mess especially after he made my baby brother think our mom dying was his fault.”

Shikamaru took in a slow breath before lighting another cigarette. “That’s… I’m sorry, Temari. I’m really sorry, I really am.”

“It’s okay,” Her laugh was humorless and bordered a sob. “It’s fine—”

“Temari, no,” he cut in. “It’s not okay. It’s not fine. That’s _fucked_ up, and I’m sorry you’ve had to live through that—and that nobody knows the truth.”

She was quiet for a moment. “You know now.”

“I mean, yeah,” he agreed hesitantly. “But that’s… other people should know— _your_ people should know the truth. It’s—it’s not enough.”

“It’s enough for me,” she told him steadfastly. 

The cigarette snapped in half between his fingers, sending hot ash drifting through the wind. 

“What?”

“You heard me. It’s enough for me. I—” she laughed again, hollowed and hurt. “Nobody knew but now somebody does. I can’t talk to my brothers or my uncle about this because it hurts too much. And I can’t tell my friends because they wouldn’t understand—because they’re loyal to Sunagakure.”

“And it’d be treason,” he added, piecing everything together.

“It’d be treason,” she agreed. “Which is hilarious because you know, other people could get in trouble for spreading the truth, but my dad would face no repercussions.” 

“They wouldn’t pull him out of office?” 

“As if the Daimyo could give a fuck about one woman dying to pull him out of office,” she responded bitterly. “His ratings were exceptional before he fucked everything up and even now they aren’t so bad because nobody knows the truth. It’s way too late to take any action against him, the Daimyo know that. And he’d honestly kill himself before ever stepping down because stepping down means admitting some sort of fault.”

“So, that makes your first brother heir?”

“Oh,” Temari growled low in her throat with a dangerously sarcastic edge. “Kankurou abdicated too. Which leaves—”

“Gaara,” he finished in a soft breath. “After everything your dad has put him through, he still stayed as heir?" 

“Oh, trust me,” she began. “This is the best revenge Gaara could ever give our dad. His hands are tied since Kankurou and I abdicated, and it leaves only Gaara. He’d rather have his gay son take over as governor than give up our family seat to one of the other high families. It’s all about his pride and Gaara played him at his own game.”   

He mulled over that for a beat before adding, “And that’s why he decided to go home to face him.”

Temari snapped her fingers. “You solved the mystery.”

“God,” he allowed a stilted chuckle, running his hands down his face just to have something to do with his hands. “Fuck. I’m—I’m sorry again, Temari, I really am. I can’t believe— _God._ And here I thought it was something stupid like a huge drug deal or whatever. But—"

“Don’t be sorry,” she said tiredly. “It’s not your fault. This is just my life.”

“It’s not my fault, I know that, but your life—it shouldn’t have been. It should have _never_ been.”

“But that’s not anything I can change now, is it?” She countered sourly.

He winced at the sudden flare of anger in her voice but softened at the sigh she let out under her breath. “Hey—”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.” 

“Hey,” he repeated. “It’s okay. _I’m_ sorry. You don’t have to be sorry. Not for this—not for _any_ of this. Please.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’m—” 

“I mean it, Temari,” he said firmly. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

“No,” she argued. “I’m sorry—this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have— _God…_ I’m sorry that I told you—that _my_ baggage has become _your_ baggage.”

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips into a thin line before shrugging to himself. “If it took some weight off your shoulders, then it’s nothing. I mean—obviously it’s not _nothing_ but it doesn’t affect me in any way. It’s only my baggage now if it means I can help you carry it. I signed up for the truth, remember?”

“Yeah… but—” She began hesitantly. 

“And you wanted somebody to know the truth, yeah?” 

“Yes,” she said more definitely.

“Then it’s okay,” he assured her gently. “I don’t want to tell you how to feel, but _this_ —this is okay, Temari. You don’t have to live it alone anymore. Or I mean, at least, ah, not having anybody to talk about it with anymore.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “You’re right. I’ve just—uh, never told anybody and it—it feels awful to live it again, you know?”

“Yeah,” he agreed even though he didn’t know, not even remotely. “But you’re going to honor her in the best way possible and have it bite your dad in his ass in the process.”

She gave him a laugh that was comforting to hear. “I hope so.”

“I know so.”

“Remember when you said you weren’t nice?”

“I do,” he answered. “Vividly.”

“Well, you are.”

He clicked his tongue. “I told you, I’m _honest._ There’s a difference.” 

“Bullshit,” she scoffed, her watery voice drying with each word back to normal. “Just take this compliment. You won’t be getting another one for a while.”

“Another one? You say that as if you actively compliment me.” 

“You make it hard.”

He sucked his teeth before grinning, warming at the sound of her banter. “That one really hurt me, I hope you know that.”

“Are you gonna get your dad to sue me?”

“I might if you push me hard enough.”

Then she laughed again, so full-bodied and rich and unlike what he had heard before that he almost forgot she was haunted by grief and hatred and remorse. Something twisted pointedly in his chest at the realization— at the truth of what happened to Sunagakure fifteen years ago and the false reality she had to uphold against her will. _He was a good man once_ —and a good governor, but so consumed by pride and blinded by the need to save the only light in his life he forgot about the other three born from the same flame.

“Shikamaru?” Temari said suddenly, anchoring him from drifting too far away in his thoughts.

He opened and snapped his lighter once twice three times. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” 

He softened and exhaled slowly through his nose. “Of course.”

“And thanks for making me laugh,” she added. “I haven’t laughed that hard in a while.”

“I’m glad I could be of service,” he said before tacking on, “Your Highness.” 

She groaned in good humor. “Do _not_ call me Your Highness.”

“Is Princess any better?”

“Shikamaru, I swear to _god_ , I will march up there and kick your ass.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he protested. “My dad’s the DA, remember?”

“I’ll make it look like an accident.”

He tsk-ed. “That’s not very princessly, Your Highness.”

“Stop,” she pleaded though it ended up becoming a laugh. “I’m not a princess.”

“Maybe not in spirit,” he allowed. “But, you are _legally_.”

“You and your technicalities,” she deadpanned. “I shouldn’t have told you _anything._ ”

“I’m willing to compromise,” he offered sagely. 

“How kind of you,” Temari drawled. “Name your price then.”

“A song,” he responded. “Your favorite one.”

Temari scoffed but lifted her guitar anyways. “You know you don’t have to ask, right?” 

“Yeah,” he acknowledged, lighting a cigarette as he leaned back into his hammock. “But it’s been a while.”

She hummed a noise of agreement, strumming a note. “It has been, hasn’t it?”  

He nodded, knowing that she couldn’t see him but settled anyways into the rhythm she brought to life.

She sang about a golden sun, beaming and beautiful and bold, with light that swept over sand dunes chasing away fears. She sang about a smile like a fox’s grin, toothy and full of mischief; and freckles like constellations that fell out of the sky; and the purest form of love as fierce and unshakeable as a hurricane.

And it didn’t take him long to figure out that the song had been written by her mother about _her._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the whole story about Rasa forsaking his home to save his wife was completely improvised but honestly i'm here for depth and adding dimension to all characters, and the relationship between Temari and her mother especially was one we were absolutely cheated out of (since Kishimoto is a firm believer in killing mothers for the sake of "emotional" growth? whatever lmfao) 
> 
> coffee shop soundtrack mirrors c plus in this way - one of our protags trying to honor a parental figure but being unsure in their decision. anyways, this chapter isn't nearly what i had hoped it would be, but for the sake of moving the story forward, it is what it is. as always, make note of all the callbacks and throwaways. they will reappear sooner than you think ;-)) let me know your thoughts! 
> 
> thank you all again for your patience and dedication to this story <3 
> 
> til next time x


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